One Night in Babylon
by VitaSeptima
Summary: It had been the right decision to refuse Harry a second date; office romances were always doomed. But when a mission on foreign soil pushes Ruth to her limits, lines drawn in the sand become hard to maintain.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

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Sheets of freezing rain pelted down onto the street, coating the pavement with a deceptive sheen. Ruth bent her head against the onslaught, squinting as icy pellets stung her cheeks. She tugged at her scarf and pulled it over her face, the action momentarily shifting her focus from her footing. Her boot found a patch of ice and her arms flailed wildly about as she fought to steady herself. A curse fell from her lips as she looked around to gauge if anyone had witnessed her appalling lack of grace. It was of little consolation to see that her fellow pedestrians were all experiencing the same predicament. Winter, unwilling to leave without a fight, had muscled out spring and was taking no prisoners.

At the intersection, a stubborn red light delayed her walk across the street and into the warmth of Thames House. As she waited, her eye was caught by a poster in a shop window; a travel agency promoting the splendours of Mexico. If only. How much would she have to save to vacation in Mexico? She could always go somewhere closer. Greece was apparently nice. She was hard-pressed to remember the last time she had been on holiday, though given the current state of her personal life it might be a wise idea to schedule a bit of time off. Over the past few weeks, a cloud of tension had hung over the Grid; a condition not entirely due to the current threat level, but rather a product of her decisions.

A truck rumbled past, racing against an amber light countdown. Giant wheels found the epicentre of a bottomless puddle, sending forth a tsunami of slush, covering those unlucky enough to be standing in its wake. Ruth gasped in surprise, all thoughts of warmer climes instantly washed away. Sending daggers in the direction of the departing truck, she glanced down at her coat. Brown spots spattered across the cream coloured fabric effectively turning her into a Dalmatian. Well, that was that. Any money she could have put towards a holiday would now have to be spent on dry cleaning. The light changed and she hurried across the street, her phone insistently vibrating in her pocket. She was late. The universe and the weather had conspired against her that morning. Surely, her day could only get better.

With a sigh of relief, Ruth entered Thames House and deposited her bag on the tray as she walked through the security barrier.

"Good morning, Charlie."

"Morning, Miss Evershed," the man greeted her. "Terrible day out."

"Certainly is." She gave him a warm smile. Befriend the gatekeepers for they are the ones who hold the keys. "I'm thinking of going to Mexico."

"That sounds alright." Charlie gave her bag a cursory glance and then handed it back to her. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course." She accepted her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "If you get the tickets."

A chuckle followed Ruth as she trotted toward the lift, managing to slip inside just as the doors were closing. The silence of the car offered her a brief sanctuary, and she tried to alleviate the damage the elements had wrought to her appearance. The metal walls of the lift distorted her reflection, the head of Medusa staring back at her. She should go to the ladies and sort herself. No, she would have a cup of warm tea first. In the end, it only took one step through the pod doors for both of those options to be nixed. Activity on the Grid was in full swing, apparently chugging on quite nicely without her. How late was she? With at fortifying breath, she set a course for her desk, navigating her way through waves of scurrying personnel. She was instantly run aground by the solid form of Malcolm.

"Ruth, just the person I was looking for." With a quick smile, he held up a large pile of folders. "Here are the transcripts you asked for. Ordered by date as you requested."

Without waiting for her response, he quickly transferred the files into Ruth's surprised arms.

"Thanks," she called to Malcolm's retreating back, the folders slipping in her arms, their contents heavier than she had anticipated. Adjusting the folders and the strap of her purse, she set off once again for her desk.

"Ruth," Adam hailed her as he walked into her path. "Did you get anything from the surveillance we put on the Georgians?"

"Yes, I have it here." She held up the folders in her arms.

"I need it as quick as you can."

"I just have to go through ..." Her voice trailed off as she spoke to air, Adam having already moved on.

She turned around and ran into Jo.

"I'm so glad you're here." Jo flashed a smile of greeting. "I've run into a block on these bank accounts, the trail runs cold. Can you give me a hand?"

"Yeah, sure," Ruth agreed, she found it hard to refuse the young officer anything. "I just need a few minutes to sort through this."

"Great." Jo stepped back and ran a critical eye over Ruth." Looks like you got a bit of something on your coat."

"Just a little dirt," Ruth replied with a tight smile, noting enviously how lovely Jo looked even with her cropped hair.

One last push and Rut finally reached her workstation. She plopped the armload of folders down with a thankful sigh, only to do a hasty dance in order to catch them before they teetered off the edge of her desk. Easing into her chair, she sat for a minute, inhaling a deep breath as she collected herself. The weight of her coat had become unbearable, and she tackled the buttons, loathing winter and all its attendant layers. She tried to unwind her scarf but it had somehow become attached to her back. She twisted her head around in an effort to puzzle out the snag.

"Do you need help with that?"

With the stealth befitting a spook, Zaf had rolled his chair up to her workstation.

"No," Ruth responded, unable to hide her irritation.

He leaned on her desk and gave her a disarming smile.

"I was wondering about those shipping manifests I asked for yesterday..."

"Yes, I know, I'm sorry. I just have to..." She pointed at her monitor, her jaw tightening with annoyance. "Turn on my computer."

"Yes, of course." Zaf slowly rolled away only to stop and roll back. "You're sitting on it."

"Sitting on what?"

"Your scarf." Shoving off with his foot, he smoothly glided away. It was as if he had never even made an appearance.

With one last tug, Ruth pulled her scarf free. The wool slipped through her fingers and landed on the floor. Exasperated, she bent over to retrieve it, her eyes landing on a pair of stylish boots. Polished to a shine, not a speck of dirt. Was she the only one who had wrestled with nature that morning? She looked up and into the patrician gaze of Ros.

"Harry's been asking for you."

"Has he?" Ruth replied with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

"Just thought I should pass it along." Ros turned to her desk and slid into her chair, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Ruth took a deep breath, refusing to be needled by the other woman's insinuating words. Ros had only been with the team for a few months, she had no idea what was going on between her and Harry - which in fact, was absolutely nothing. As if refuting Ruth's claim, the red light on her desk phone blinked at her with a mocking insistence. Ruth ignored it and studied the pile of folders on her desk. There was nothing between her and Harry, because if there was anything she would have jumped up from her chair the moment she had heard he was looking for her. She would have welcomed the opportunity to walk into his office and spend a few quiet moments with him. But that was not the case. As annoying as it was to be late, a small part of her was secretly glad that the bus had been delayed. Over the past few days, she had been arriving at work significantly later than usual, a bid to avoid being alone in Harry's company. A pang of nostalgia bloomed in her chest, a longing for an earlier time when their mutual attraction lay sleeping beneath the surface of their days, quietly living on dreams and anticipation. It had been foolish to wake it, expose it to the glare of reality. Office romances always died under fluorescent lights, she knew that from firsthand experience. Her temperament was not suited to sly looks and innuendo. She had thought that by refusing a second date she could silence wagging tongues and maintain Harry's authority on the Grid. It had been the right decision, the only responsible thing to do. Admittedly, there were moments when she doubted her decision, brief imaginings of other scenarios, thoughts which she quickly brushed away. But in the darker corners of the night, temptation whispered, laying before her a fantasy where a brief meeting in a hotel corridor ended far differently than a hurried goodnight and a closed door. Alone in her bed, lying beneath cold sheets, warm thoughts crept in, the memory of their dinner date, an illicit kiss, soft lips, heavy breaths and roaming hands...

As if summoned, a hand appeared on top of her folders. Ruth jumped in her seat. The crisp white cuff of a shirt peeked out beneath a dark jacket sleeve and she followed the arm up to the face of her Section Head. Harry cocked his head in the direction of his office; no word of greeting, no inquiry into her health, the usual warmth he reserved for her missing from his eyes. He turned on his heels and walked away, giving her no chance to respond. She frowned, unsettled by his silent summons. Her hand shook as she opened her desk drawer and extracted a little mirror along with a tube of lipstick. She didn't need to turn around to know that Ros was smiling. Taming her hand, she coloured her lips, taking her time; she was not a puppy to be brought to heel by a look. Unsure of the reason for her summons, she grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from her desk and made her way to Harry's office.

The frame of the door offered a modicum of protection and she waited in its shelter, hoping that their business would be concluded quickly; that he merely wanted to share a piece of Intel or an update. Harry made no move to acknowledge her presence but continued to read the papers on his desk.

"You wanted to see me?" she prompted.

"Come in. Shut the door."

The gruffness of his voice caught her off guard, though she should be used to it by now. She stepped in and closed the door, aware that his tone signalled something either very confidential or very bad.

"Have a seat."

Taking her place in the chair across from him, Ruth's mind raced with the reason for the meeting. Was she to be reprimanded for her tardiness? Was she being dismissed? Or more worryingly, was this going to be a discussion of a personal nature? From the set of his shoulders and the efficient manner in which he was moving papers on his desk, she concluded that that was not personal. He did not look up at her when he spoke.

"Have you heard of Operation Bedouin?"

"No," she replied.

"I thought with your contacts something might have reached your ears."

"What is it?"

"I need you to find out what you can on this man." He handed her a piece of paper with a grainy photo.

"Nizaar Hassan," she read aloud.

"See what you can get; I'm calling the team together in an hour."

"Sure," she nodded. "Do you want me to look into this Operation Bedouin?"

His hands stilled and his brow furrowed. "Without alerting anyone."

"Of course." She waited for a moment wondering if she was dismissed. "Anything else?"

For the first time since she had entered his office, he looked directly at her. She quelled her instinct to look away, forcing herself to calmly return his gaze. The corner of his eyes softened, his lips parting slightly. In treasonous response, her stomach gave an involuntary flip and her lips parted, mirroring his. Perhaps a personal discussion wouldn't be such a bad idea, clear the air, find a middle ground. Somewhere off the Grid, a coffee, lunch. It would give her a chance to articulate her misgivings, they could re-establish their rapport, find a way back. Words formed on her tongue, but as she took a breath to speak his face hardened, and he returned to reading the file in front of him.

"That's all for now."

She sat for a moment in stunned silence, stung by his less than gracious dismissal. It was to be expected, really. She had refused a second date and bolted from him at Havensworth. The man had his pride; he was only reasserting their professional boundaries. Perhaps he had called her in merely to illustrate the new status quo between them. A signal that he would make no other overtures towards her; business as usual. It was a deflating conclusion. She rose from her chair and moved toward the door.

"Ruth."

"Yes?" She turned back to him unable to temper the tiny flicker of expectation in her voice.

"Close the door behind you."

The smile fell from her face, and she resolutely turned away. It was what she wanted, it was better to draw a line around their relationship instead of inhabiting a hazy grey area. Crossing the threshold, she pulled the door shut behind her, the panel hitting the frame with a definitive thud. That was it. The door between them was closed.

.

Low-level chatter buzzed around the briefing room, the conversations swarming about Ruth as she concentrated on the papers in front of her. She ordered her thoughts searching for what she would say when the inevitable question came her way - what had she found on Nizaar Hassan. Harry entered and closed the door, shutting out the white noise of the Grid. He took his seat at the head of the table, adjusting his cuffs as he waited for the team to settle in. He turned to Adam.

"Where are we on the weapons smuggling?"

"We've traced the trail back to Georgia," said Adam.

"It's um... Azkabazi," Ruth corrected, apologetically. "It's a breakaway state." Details were important, after all.

"There's word a shipment is coming next week," Adam continued. "We need to pin down the location and date."

"We've uncovered an account," said Jo. "Usually there is a money transfer a few days out."

"Good." Harry turned back to Adam. "Would you say that you have a handle on this?"

"Yes. Once we have the date we can go in a sweep up all the players on this end."

"Ruth," Harry gestured at the analyst but did not look in her direction. "Did you come up with anything on Hassan?"

"Nizaar Hassan." She shuffled the papers and cleared her throat. "He's an Iraqi born physicist."

Harry frowned at her. "And…?"

Ruth shifted in her seat and swallowed. "That's all I have."

"What do you mean?" Harry looked at her as if she had been replaced by an alien being.

"That's all I could find. He was born and lives in Baghdad. Unmarried. That's it."

"What's this all about, Harry?" asked Adam.

"The current thought is that he's here, in London, and we have been asked to find him. Apparently, he has information on weapons."

"In Asbakazi?" asked Zaf.

"No," Harry corrected. "In Iraq."

"But it's been years," Ros pointed out. "Nothing has ever been found."

"As you may recall our government made the decision to invade based on uncorroborated information from Six."

"And we said as much." Ros raised her hands in denial. "We backed away from it."

"Yes, well the Americans say Hassan is a source so we need to track him down. Public support for the war is in decline, and needless to say, the government is looking to change that."

"We're not a propaganda arm of the government," Zaf interjected.

Ignoring him, Harry continued. "Jo, see what you can find on Hassan."

"If Ruth can't find anything, what makes you think I can?"

"She's not always infallible, is she?" Harry responded tersely.

Silence fell on the room like a guillotine. Somewhere a pin dropped and everyone at the table heard it. Ruth stared at the papers in front of her, the core of her being quaking from the perceived insult. That was the problem, she was unerringly dependable in her information gathering, the definition of her very being depended on it, and on this occasion, she had been found woefully lacking. No one pointed out Harry's transgression, and he gave no indication that he was aware of the temperature of the room, and even if he was, it was not in his nature to backtrack. He carried on as if nothing had happened.

"As you know, there has been no love lost between us and Six as of late. So the JIC has asked us to go to Baghdad with them and hash things out."

"When are we leaving?" Adam sat forward, excited at the prospect of field work.

"I'm taking Ruth with me."

Ruth's head shot up. "Me?"

"Ruth?" Adam's asked with equal surprise.

The eyes of the team turned to Ruth, and a ball of heat instantly flamed within her chest, rapidly travelling to her cheeks. Her first instinct was to laugh and ask Harry if he was joking, but the expression on his face told her that he was being deadly serious.

"I can't…" Words failed, and her brain derailed, unable to make sense of the situation. "I can't go to Baghdad…."

Harry ignored her protest and stood up from the table signalling that the briefing had concluded. "Continue with the smuggling operation. I'll be gone for three days at the most."

Ruth remained in her seat, grappling with the new information, sifting through arguments as to why she could not go to Baghdad. The rest of the team collected their documents and filed out of the room, Jo catching Ruth's eye as she walked out. Adam did not immediately leave but caught Harry by the arm

"Harry is this wise?" Adam spoke in a low voice, his words still audible to Ruth as she sat at the table. "Both Ros and I have experience in the Middle East."

"Ros showed her loyalty by defending Six, and I need you here to oversee the weapons smuggling."

"Ruth has no experience in the field."

Ruth bristled at Adam's argument, laid out as if she wasn't within earshot.

"It's high-level intelligence sharing," Harry explained. "I need an analyst. A field officer would be wasted."

Ruth sat back in her chair. Well, then, that was different. Why waste the talents of an officer when a lowly analyst was available.

Adam was not convinced. "It's a dangerous place-"

Harry held up his hand silencing his Section Chief. "It will only be for a few days. Get Jo to track down Hassan."

Adam gave Harry one last look but realised the argument had been decided. He shook his head and left the briefing room. Harry ran his hand over his face. The tip of Ruth's pen tapped against her papers, the slow tick of a bomb.

"Is that what you were going to tell me in your officer earlier?"

Harry's head jerked around, eyes opening slightly at the realisation that she was still in the room.

Ruth shook her head, her pen spinning angrily between her fingers. Bastard. He had made the announcement in front of everyone to thwart her protest. He should have told her in private, warned her, given her time to digest things.

"Harry, I can't go to Baghdad…"

She gave him a level look, the end of her sentence remaining suspended in the air between them. She couldn't go to Baghdad - with him.

"It's not a request."

"I'm nowhere near finished with the transcripts-"

Harry thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, his chest moving with a controlled intake of breath. "Is your passport in order?"

"I think so… I mean…"

"Good. We leave tomorrow at seven."

"Tomorrow? That's hardly any time-"

"We've got a flight out of Brize Norton."

Her mind raced with the volume of tasks she would have to accomplish in that time.

"Harry?" Her voice stopped him at the door. "What is this really about?"

He turned and looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"I need someone I can trust."

Harry opened the door and walked out leaving Ruth with only the tap of his heels as he proceeded down the corridor. Head heavy with the weight of what had just transpired, she rested her forehead in her hands. Baghdad. She couldn't go to Baghdad. Adam was right; she had no experience abroad, her excursions into the field inevitably ended in disaster. She was a desk spook. And that wasn't the most glaring concern. She couldn't go to Baghdad with Harry, not with the way things were between them, awash in unresolved tension. But he had given her no choice; it had been an order. She sighed. At least it would be warm there. The noise from the Grid filtered into the room, reminding her of the myriad of tasks that called her. Her head cocked as she looked at the door. Harry had not shut the panel behind him when he had left. The door was open.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N - Thank you so much for all the kind reviews! They are certainly wonderful incentive to keep writing. Hope the rest of the story unfolds to your liking._

 _._

Chapter 2

The doorbell buzzed like a saw through the quiet of the house, the shock nearly ripping Ruth from her skin. She hastily laid her checklist down on the kitchen counter, alongside her annotated feeding instructions for the cat. Fidget, sensing Ruth's imminent departure, mewed loudly.

"I know, sweetheart, I'll miss you too." Ruth bent down and lovingly rubbed the soft fur around the cat's ears. "Don't worry, Jo is going to come and look after you."

The buzzer sounded again, insistently interrupting their farewell.

"Coming," Ruth called as she hurried down the hall. Her foot caught on a rogue shoe and she kicked it to one side, cursing softly. Flustered, she opened the front door. With the confidence of a colossus, Harry stood squarely on her stoop, scrolling through his phone. He glanced at her briefly.

"Are you ready to go?"

Ruth nodded, slightly miffed that she hadn't even merited a good morning. For such an early hour he looked remarkably awake. It was obvious that a sleepless night had not plagued him. She reached for her coat resigning herself to the cooler timbre of their association. Professional, curt, trimmed of all superfluous interaction - they were merely agents on an assignment. She slipped into her winter coat, and Harry gave her a puzzled look.

"You won't need that. It's twenty-six in Baghdad."

"Right." She hung her coat back on the hook and reached for the lighter jacked that she had originally intended to take. It was lack of sleep that made her distracted - nothing more.

"Is that all your taking?" He pointed to her suitcase.

"Yes. Why? Should I be taking more?"

"No, no. That's fine."

The assurance didn't matter; his words had set off a cascading sequence of doubts. Had she forgotten something? She was sure she had checked everything off of her list. After an evening of exhaustive research and deliberation, she had decided on the basic toiletries and the few simple garments that passed for her summer wardrobe. The only item that she had packed with any certainty was her dog-eared copy of the Seven Pillars of Wisdom. There was a certain comfort in bringing Lawrence along, a talisman evoking the spirit of the man for protection. In all likelihood, she would not be treading the same ground as him, but she would at least be in bilād ar-rāfidayn, the land between two rivers. She might be able to get a sense of the land that had informed his writings and develop a better understanding of the man himself. The prosaic look on Harry's face told her that he held no such notions of the historic implications of their journey. He was more interested in getting her into the car. He reached for her suitcase.

"I can take it," she protested.

She didn't need his help. She may not be a field agent but after Adam's bleak assessment of her qualifications the previous day, she was intent on proving her worth for this mission. Hearing her determination, Harry paused in mid-motion and stepped back. With a sense of purpose, she followed him out the door, stopping momentarily to check the look. Satisfied that it was in order, she started off. A flash of doubt ran through her mind. She turned around and checked the lock again.

"It's locked," said Harry, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"I know, I know. It's just…"

She glanced up at her little house. What would happen to it if she never returned? Ridiculous thought. She was with Harry, it was an information sharing mission, nothing would happen.

Frost painted the ground, and she pulled her thin jacket tightly around her, shivering as she walked to the car. An unfamiliar driver lifted her suitcase into the boot and she chalked his presence up to the sensitivity of the mission. Harry walked around to the other side. Ruth stood for a moment, confused. He had always opened the door for her in the past. Apparently, her refusal of his offer to carry her bag had negated any further chivalrous acts. Well, that was alright. She shouldn't expect to be treated differently than any other field operative. Still, it left her with a strange sense of loss and she closed the door with a little more force than necessary. The noise echoed through the quiet street, disturbing a flock of birds roosting in a tree. The birds soared off into the distance, black dots against a grey sky, and Ruth tracked their progress, knowing that she would soon follow them into the air. The car rolled away from the curve, driving past still sleeping houses, their windows shuttered against the morning. A yawn escaped Ruth's mouth, sleep having eluded her the previous night. Tossing, mind churning with anxious thoughts, she had formulated an endless list of worries the least of which was spending an extended amount of time in Harry's company. In all probability, she would be sequestered off with other analysts; the days spent sorting through data. She might not even see Harry for the duration of their stay.

"Malcolm has loaded this up for you." Harry pulled out a small leather case. "Along with some devices that he didn't bother to explain to me but said that you would understand."

A quick inspection revealed a small laptop. She touched the computer with grateful fingers, the pleasing weight of the machine calming her. Empiric and logical, data would never desert her. The case also held a mobile phone, communication earbuds and other paraphernalia that she would investigate later. She sat back in her seat.

"I still don't understand why you're taking me."

"I told you I needed an analyst. Someone I can trust." He pulled at his seatbelt. "And you're a woman. In a testosterone-fuelled environment, you might be able to use that to your advantage."

She frowned at him not wanting to contemplate what he meant by the last statement.

"That reminds me." He dug his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a ring. "This is for you."

"What is it?" Ruth drew her head back as if he were holding a snake.

"It's a ring."

"Yes, I know that. We're not…" She motioned between them.

"No. No," he answered quickly. "The ratio of men to women out there is ten to one. This might deter any unwanted attention."

"Maybe I'd like a little attention," she retorted cheekily.

Harry pursed his lips, and she immediately regretted her flippancy. With a complete lack of ceremony, he grabbed her hand and plunked the ring onto her finger. His fingers were strong and firm, their warmth penetrating the coolness of her skin. He held her eyes, challenging her to remove the ring. Her mouth parted in disbelief, stunned by the swiftness of his actions, feeling as though she had just been branded - Property of MI5. She blinked and looked down at their joined hands.

"I see that you're not wearing one."

"Yes, well, I don't think I have to worry about any unwanted attention." Releasing her hand, Harry sat back in his seat and adjusted his jacket.

She pursed her lips, certain that the comment had been meant for her. She ignored it and focused on extracting the laptop. She opened the lid and saw that Malcolm had installed fingerprint verification. She pressed her thumb on the spot and unlocked the screen.

"Are you going to tell me what the password is?" Harry reached down to the floor and pulled up a briefcase. "Operational purposes, of course."

Still piqued by his earlier behaviour, she felt no need to correct his assumption that there was a conventional password. "It's my husband's first name."

There was no response from him, and she carried on searching through the laptop, satisfied that her rather irreverent answer had silenced him.

"It's your cat's name, isn't it?" He emphasised his question by flicking open the latches on the briefcase.

Her fingers paused on the keys and she grimly looked at the screen, swallowing her rebuttal that she was not married to her cat.

"It's fingerprint verification."

"What if I need to get onto it?"

A sigh of exasperation crossed her lips, for she was certain that he was being deliberately provocative. After a few keystrokes, a dialogue box popped up on the screen. She took his hand, extended his thumb and placed it against the screen. She turned to him with a pert tilt to her head.

"Satisfied?"

There was a look of contained superiority on his face as if he had just led her into a trap. She could keep no secrets from him. His eyes fell down to his hand, heavy in hers, the flesh of his palm pressing against her. Only minutes into the journey and he had already manufactured two occasions to hold her hand. She placed his hand on the seat between them, and with a studied nonchalance changed the subject.

"Did you find out anything about Operation Bedouin?"

"No. I only heard of it in passing. I have no idea what we're going into and I thought it might give us some leverage."

"Why are they bringing us in?"

"Because everyone blames the whole WMD debacle on shoddy Intel and apparently the only way to make up for it is to go on some sort of interagency love fest in the middle of a war zone."

Ruth smiled at her screen. It would seem that Harry shared her misgivings about the mission. She took a deep breath and unsuccessfully tried to suppress another yawn.

"It's going to take a while to get to the airport. You should rest."

If she didn't know any better, she would say that his tone sounded almost conciliatory.

"I don't think I could. Too nervous."

"That's to be expected."

"I should go through what Malcolm's put on here."

"It's a four-hour flight." He opened up his briefcase and pulled out a file.

Ruth continued to scroll through the data that Malcolm had loaded onto the computer; maps, dossiers, any documentation they could find on the hunt for WMDs. The car sailed along the M40 at a steady speed, rocking slightly as the engine hummed in the background. Ruth's head swayed with the rhythm of the car, her eyelids drooping shut and then quickly popping open. She looked out her window, the dark outline of trees showing against the faint pink on the horizon. She leaned back against the headrest and her eyes fluttered closed. Only for a moment, she told herself. Papers rustled softly near her elbow, Harry's presence evoking the comfort that comes with the familiar. In the closed air of the car, she could detect the notes that were distinctly him; sandalwood soap, freshly pressed shirts, and the whiff of authority that always accompanied him. Her mind wandered, eventually slipping into another world, thoughts fading into a dark night, deep and starless, slowly surrounding her, calling her name.

"Ruth." A hand touched her arm. "We're here."

Startled, Ruth's eyes flew open and she struggled to sit up. Harry was looking at her, a strange expression on his face. Before she could discern its meaning, he turned away. She wiped the side of her face, mortified that she might have drooled in her sleep. The car vibrated as a plane thundered overhead. Harry nodded out the window and she turned to see the angular lines of the Brize Norton airport.

Luggage in tow, they entered the terminal. She had expected a manifest of mostly military passengers but there was an equal number of civilians milling about. Contractors, she surmised, reaping the benefits of rebuilding devastation. Ruth found herself edging closer to Harry as they walked toward the check-in counter, a moment of panic overtaking her. Airports meant departures; a place where time was suspended before the journey to another world. They were still on the ground, there was time to go back, but reason tempered her nerves and she followed where Harry led. After checking in their bags, they moved through a bank of metal detectors. Ruth sailed through, but Harry was stopped by a loud beep. Ruth smiled at Harry's scowl. He had removed all the paraphernalia from his pockets but had forgotten to take off his watch. Handing it over, he returned and reentered the detector.

"You people are always trying to get away with something, aren't you?" A dark-haired man with a laconic smile approached them. He held out his hand. "Ronnie Greene. From Six. You must be Pearce."

"Yes." Harry shook the man's hand. "This is Ruth Evershed. My analyst."

Ruth smiled and shook the man's hand. He gave her a perfunctory smile in return as his eyes skimmed over her appearance. Instantly, her brain made an equal number of snap judgments and instinctive conclusions. He was the liaison from Six, but she was sure he had not been in the middle east in quite some time, his skin looked winter pale. There was a dark shadow around his jaw and a guarded quality to his eyes.

Ronnie motioned to the slim young man beside him. "This is my analyst, Philip Larking."

The younger man shook hands with Harry. His greeting to Ruth was even more tepid than Ronnie's, a loose, barely there handshake. Harry may have overestimated her womanly attributes for it was obvious that she made no impression on these two men.

"We can go into the first class lounge while we wait." Ronnie gestured to a door.

"I'm not sure if we merit such treatment." Harry glanced around the terminal.

"It will give us a place to talk."

The lounge was a small room off the main terminal. What it lacked in luxury it made up for in privacy; the cacophony of the airport silenced by closing the door. Ruth took a seat beside Harry on the imitation leather sofa. A table with a carafe stood on one side of the room, and Ronnie helped himself to a coffee, stirring in powdered milk with a plastic stick.

"You ever been out before, Harry?"

"Many years ago."

Ruth sifted through the filing cabinet of her memory, trying to remember when Harry would have been in the Middle East.

"How about you, Miss Evershed?" Ronnie asked as he took a seat on the couch across from her.

"Mrs Evershed," she corrected him as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, displaying her ring. Might as well get the legend straight from the beginning. Harry cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

"Any details you can share with us?" Harry asked, bringing the focus back to him.

"I don't have everything myself."

"Seems rather uncharacteristic of the cousins, this wanting to share."

"We're all in this together, Harry. Coalition of the willing." Ronnie took a sip of his coffee and raised an ironic brow.

Ruth studied Ronnie, parsing his evasive language, wondering if it was typical spook elusiveness or a different form of deception.

A garbled voice came over the speaker announcing that it was time for their flight to board. A flicker of panic shot through Ruth as she rose from her seat. She subdued it and followed the men as they headed back through the terminal and out a set of glass doors. The last doors on English soil. Her pulse quickened. The wind whipped at her hair as she stepped out onto the tarmac. The memory of winter licked at the flaps of her flimsy coat. Had she packed warm enough clothes? Maybe she should go back. Mobile stairs loomed in the distance and her heart thudded in her chest as every step took her farther away from the safety of her mundane little desk at Thames House. Gripping tightly onto the handrail, she concentrated on Harry's back as she ascended the stairs, taking strength from the breadth of his shoulders beneath his jacket.

Once inside, they took a moment to sort themselves out. It was a charter flight with a military contractor and their seats had been randomly assigned. Harry had the seat next to Ronnie, leaving Ruth adrift in the aisle. A pang of disappointment rippled through her. He should be sitting next to her. She chastised herself; it shouldn't matter where she sat, she was a grown woman. Philip had slid into the window seat behind Harry and Ronnie. Ruth clenched her jaw. She didn't want to look out the window anyway. Everything was moving at a far faster pace than she had ever encountered on a commercial airliner. A flight attendant demonstrated the emergency procedures as the engines revved into life. The plane taxied down the runway, gaining speed, wing flaps down, wheels up. There was a moment of suspension as they fought to leave the surly bonds of earth, and then the obligatory moment of pressure as the air in the cabin changed. Gaining altitude, they levelled off, and Ruth breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't mind flying. It was the taking off and landing that made her nervous. An overhead light blinked and a bell dinged alerting the passengers that it was safe to remove their seat belts.

Philip let down the tray in front of him and placed his laptop on it, pulling out a pair of earphones and plugging them into a jack. Ruth took it as a signal that he intended to use the flight to work and not to socialise. She tried not to take it personally. She reached for the mobile that Malcolm had given her and watched Philip out of the corner of her eye as he turned on his computer. There was no fingerprint verification on his computer. She silently thanked Malcolm for his security paranoia. Ruth held her phone near her ear, hiding the fact that it was actually a camera. Philip typed in his password. She couldn't say why she felt compelled to record the man. Perhaps it was because he was ignoring her, or because of the patronising manner of his boss, or how everyone was underestimating her.

Putting the mobile away, she pulled out her laptop and returned to the task of updating herself on the situation in Iraq. It was a country in chaos, the Coalition Provisional Authority was pulling out, the incoming government was untested, there were kidnappings, civil unrest, and roadside bombs. Good God, what had she gotten herself into? She was hurtling through the sky, heading to a war-torn country, with no idea of what lay ahead.

Harry poked his head around from the seat in front of her.

"Everything okay?"

She gave him a weak little smile and nodded. He turned back to Ronnie. The small gesture had momentarily appeased her; she had not been completely forgotten.

She looked at the seat in front of her, thinking of the man who sat there. Only a few weeks earlier she had rejected him and now her life was completely in his hands. Perhaps she should have explained her reasoning better. Too late now; there was no going back.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A bank of clouds parted and a brilliant beam of late afternoon sun streamed through the aeroplane window. The intercom crackled as the pilot announced their descent into Baghdad. Ruth craned her neck, trying to get a glimpse at the land below but was unable to see past Philip. It was four in the afternoon; noon by her internal clock, somewhere in the space-time continuum, hours had been lost and she was fast approaching a new reality. The plane descended, wheels screeching on the runway, the passengers jostled by the bumps of the smaller aircraft. Contrary to instructions, people stood up before the plane had completely stopped. Ruth remained steadfastly in her seat. Harry glanced down at her as he pulled his briefcase from the overhead compartment. Unlike Ruth, he had not spent the trip working; he had spent his time in conversation with Ronnie - though that could be considered a form of work. There was always a nugget of information in a seemingly casual conversation. In keeping with the newly defined yet still unspoken boundaries of the professional relationship, Harry did not offer to retrieve Ruth's coat, leaving her to fetch it for herself.

As she exited the plane, Ruth stepped into a furnace, the heat sucking the air from her lungs. Human beings were not meant for such conditions. During the short walk across the airfield, shimmering waves radiated off the asphalt, and perspiration pricked at Ruth's temples. Her blouse clung to her skin, the weight of the fabric almost unbearable. With a sigh of relief, she entered the oasis of the terminal. Decorated in teal and gold, it was an odd mixture modern and Arabic design, with a décor reminiscent of another decade. As they stood by the baggage carousel, Ruth clutched the laptop bag to her side as if it were a child prone to wandering away. As well as containing a trove of data, it was her connection to the Grid, a totem of her London self. She would be lost without it. Mercifully, her suitcase appeared, and she stepped forward to claim it before it was lost in airport limbo, thanking the gods that it had made it to the same destination. Harry took a step forward reaching for his own case. Their shoulders touched, and they jostled for a moment before he stepped back and let her retrieve her case first.

"I think there's a car waiting for us," said Ronnie.

Ruth followed the men as they left the comfort of the terminal and returned to the heat of the outside world. The MI6 agent had donned a pair of expensive looking sunglasses, effectively delineating the difference between him and his squinting counterparts from Five.

There were, in fact, two cars, both of them massive black SUVs. Once again the party was split up, Harry and Ronnie in one car, Ruth and Philip in the next. Wonderful, thought Ruth, she could continue to be ignored.

The road leading out of the airport was a post-apocalyptic maze of concrete barriers and barbed wire. Meridians that may have once held greenery were burned brown, resilient palm trees dotted the side of the road, and a heavy haze hung over the horizon. Ruth shifted in her seat, unnerved by the fact that they were driving on the wrong side of the road, certain a car would come careening toward them at any moment. They entered a gauntlet of checkpoints, crawling slowly as the driver manoeuvred around speed bumps. As they drew into the city, traffic increased and signs of the population became more apparent. Their car slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. Ruth looked around, trying not to panic, while Philip remained distinctly unperturbed. A rumble sounded behind their car and an armoured vehicle sped past, followed by another, the military taking precedence over civilians. Horns honked and traffic started up once more. Ruth sat back and tried to relax. From her research, she hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. A city in limbo, not completely functioning, ostensibly free but feeling as though it were under occupation; barriers erected everywhere. At last, they neared their destination; a large sign indicating the Green Zone. Two crossed sabres loomed in the distance creating a giant arch. She leaned over to get a better look, accidentally brushing against Philip. A large teal dome capped an imposing building.

"Is that the Republican Palace?" asked Ruth.

"Yes," confirmed Philip. "We're not going there. It's been commandeered by the Americans. We're going to the British compound. They're putting us up in Ocean Cliffs"

"That sounds promising," Ruth replied.

"Except we're nowhere near an ocean," Philip reminded her caustically.

The Palace disappeared in the rearview mirror, and the cars finally reached their destination. Contrary to its scenic name, Ocean Cliffs turned out to be row upon row of prefabricated caravans arranged in a covered car park. Ruth tried to mask her disappointment. The air was marginally cooler as she exited the car, the map in her mind telling her they were near the Tigris. She waited with Harry by the car while Ronnie crossed to a trailer that appeared to by some sort of administration office. After a moment, Ronnie returned.

"Looks like there's been some sort of mix up," Ronnie informed them. "Full house here. No room at the inn, as it were."

Ruth's eyes flashed to Harry with concern. He looked untroubled by the situation, which was mildly comforting.

"They've bunked me and Philip in with some people but they've booked a room for you at the Al-Rashid."

Ruth gave a silent breath of relief, happy that they were going to a hotel instead of being billeted in a trailer.

"It's just a few blocks from here," Ronnie assured them. "The car will take you there. We'll pick you up at eight-hundred tomorrow. I'm sure Libby will get us into the canteen at the Palace."

There was a mild flurry of activity as luggage was unloaded from one car and transferred to another. Ruth climbed into Harry's vehicle; his presence beside her in the seat serving to re-establish her sense of equilibrium.

"Maybe staying at the hotel is a blessing in disguise," she mused.

Harry gave her an impassive look. "There's a reason why all the trailers are under the car park."

Their arrival at the hotel illuminated Harry's cryptic comment. The exterior of the building was scarred by mortar attacks, random balconies missing from various floors. Perhaps Ocean Cliffs wasn't that bad after all. Ruth exited the car with a fair amount of trepidation, but the bustle of the lobby eased her nerves; it wouldn't be this busy if it was unsafe. She and Harry crossed to the welcome desk.

"Room for Pearce," Harry announced, characteristically light on the small talk, heavy on the authority.

She smiled at the concierge trying to make up for Harry's gruffness. The man checked his computer and handed Harry a key.

"And one for Evershed," Harry continued.

The attendant punched her name into the computer. A frown crossed his face as he tapped a few more keys.

"Is there any other name it might be under?" he asked.

Ruth inhaled a slow breath. There was no need to panic, not yet, but her stomach sank just the same.

"No," Harry replied tersely.

"I'm sorry; there is no booking for Evershed."

"Ronnie did say a room," Ruth pointed out, a weary smile on her face, trying to find some levity in the situation.

"I'd like to book another room then." Harry reached for his wallet.

"I'm sorry, sir. We are full to capacity."

Somehow, Ruth knew that would be the answer.

"Are you sure?" Harry's tone verged on menacing.

The concierge looked unperturbed. Ruth was certain that he dealt with men like Harry every day; the man had lived through a war after all. He might be more amenable to other persuasions.

"Is there any sort of incentive we could give you?" Ruth's eyes dropped down to the wallet in Harry's hand. Harry, understanding her lead, discreetly pulled out a bill.

"I am sorry Miss, there is nothing." He raised his hands in defeat. "Perhaps another hotel."

A line was growing behind them and words of annoyance reached her ears. She was tired, Harry was irritable. She placed a conciliatory hand on Harry's arm.

"Let's just go see what the room is like. Maybe it's double occupancy."

The concierge gave Ruth a thankful smile. Harry turned away from the counter, mumbling as he sorted out his wallet. Ruth waited patiently, looking out over the lobby. A contingent of loud men walked through, coming between her and Harry. Ruth moved back to let them pass. She jumped when a female voice spoke near her shoulder.

"Did you get booted out of your room?"

Ruth turned around and looked into the frank eyes of a woman. Ruth judged her to be in her thirties, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, tanned. American. A badge hung on a lanyard around the woman's neck. Ruth's eyes flicked down to the identification and then back up to the woman's face.

"It happens a lot here. I'm bunking in with three guys." She held out her hand. "I'm Liz Denning."

"I know." Ruth's refrained from shaking the woman's hand. "You're badge says you're with the Post."

"Yeah, I'm a reporter. Don't worry, it's not contagious." The woman flashed Ruth a smile showing a set of perfect white teeth. "What brings you out here?"

There was an element to the woman's question that kept it from being completely conversational in nature as if she had sensed a weakness in Ruth and peeled her away from the herd.

"Contract work."

"Oh? What company?" This time the smile didn't quite reach the reporter's eyes. She sensed Ruth was hedging.

"If you don't mind, I'm rather tired." Ruth motioned toward the lift. "I'm going to head up to my room."

"Here, let me give you my card." The woman pressed a small business card in Ruth's hand. "There aren't many of us out here. Let me know if you ever need anything."

The woman walked away. Harry stepped over to Ruth.

"Who was that?"

"A reporter."

"Best to steer clear of her."

Ruth nodded as she slipped the business card inside her bag.

As they walked through the hotel, Ruth felt the same dissonance she had experienced at the airport. A place caught in time. They passed a sign advertising a disco.

"It's from the sanctions," Harry said discerning her thoughts. "It's as if the country was caught in the Eighties."

Ruth didn't bother to voice that disco was more of a seventies phenomena, choosing to stay quiet and follow Harry into the lift.

They trundled down the hall, and Harry unlocked the door to their room, motioning for her to enter first. A few paces in, she halted. Harry came and stood beside her. They remained motionless, staring, trying to process what lay before them. There was only one bed. A laugh bubbled in the back of Ruth's throat for she was certain some ancient Babylonian god was playing with her, mocking her flight from Harry at Havensworth. Fate would only let her run away so many times. Harry ran a hand over the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry, Ruth. I had no idea."

"It's alright," she replied in a faded voice. What else could she say?

"I'll go back to Ocean Cliffs, see if they can squeeze me in somewhere."

At his offer, Ruth's shoulders dropped with relief only to rise again at the realisation that she would be alone in a foreign hotel in a conflict zone.

"Actually," she inhaled a deep breath. "I think I might feel safer if you were to stay here."

"I have to admit I'd feel better not leaving you alone." Harry walked over to the air conditioning unit and pressed a button.

"We're both hot and tired. I'm sure we can make this work."

"I'll sleep on the floor. Or a chair."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're a Section Head."

"I also like to think I'm a gentleman."

"Well then sharing a bed shouldn't be a problem." Her tongue rebelled at the foreign taste of the words she had just uttered. "I mean...We're both adults." That was the whole problem, wasn't it? They were both consenting adults. She swallowed. "It's only for a few nights..."

Clearing her throat, she walked over to a set of sliding glass doors. The panorama of the city stretched out before her, the sun a brilliant orb in an orange sky. Her heart stopped at the beauty of it. She gingerly tested the latch on the door and it open. She stepped out onto the balcony, a breeze rising to fan her face. Directly below her lay the neglected grounds of the hotel and a forlorn swimming pool. Beyond the concrete blast barriers that encircled the Green Zone, cars wound through the streets, noises from a city pulsing with life. The sun dipped down and kissed the horizon, and she closed her eyes, inhaling the sacred moment.

"I'd advise against standing out there."

At Harry's word's, she glanced back at him over her shoulder. The wind caught her hair, and she moved the stray strands from her eyes. He leaned against the door jamb, jacket off, the top button of his shirt undone, his hands hidden in his trouser pockets. The setting sun bathed him in a golden light, colouring him with youth. Her hand itched to reach out and pull him into the moment with her. They were in the city given by God. If only they were here for some other reason.

I thought I might hear it," she whispered, "The call to prayer."

"We're not on a sightseeing tour."

"I know." She looked away. She wasn't a child to be chastised.

"I need you to stay focused."

As if underscoring his words, two black dots appeared on the horizon, blotting the sun. Giant birds, she thought. The whirr of droning blades told her differently. Not birds, but Blackhawks. Ruth nodded and stepped back inside the room.

"Why don't you freshen up and I'll see if I can scrounge us up some food," Harry offered.

"Yes." Ruth closed the door and locked it.

After Harry had left, Ruth inspected the bathroom and found it like the rest of the hotel, faded but functional. The water from the shower streamed on her back wonderfully hot but woefully lacking pressure. Still, it was enough to wash off the residue of three different time zones. As much as she wanted to linger, she washed and rinsed in record time, not wanting to be caught in a compromising state. By the time Harry returned, she had changed into a light skirt and a loose fitting blouse. He carried a covered plate and two bottles of water. As he placed them down on the table, he ran a not so subtle eye over her. She ran self-conscious fingers through her hair. Oh well, it wasn't as if she was trying to attract him. The opposite, in fact. Probably best that he saw the real her. Though it would be nice to be like Jo and look effortlessly beautiful. She opened the wrapping on the packet and discovered flatbread with hummus and some sort of meat.

"It was all they had," Harry explained.

"It looks great." Ruth dipped a piece of bread into the hummus. "Do we need to check in with the Grid?"

"I already phoned Adam." Harry took the seat across from Ruth and inspected a piece of meat.

"Should we talk about tomorrow?"

"We're meeting with Libby McCaul from the CIA. I'm not sure who else. Take notes, names, follow up anything that seems suspect."

"You mean like the fact that we're being put up at a hotel."

"Yes." Harry tasted the meat and after a few slow chews decided that it was edible. "What do you think of Ronnie?"

"He's hiding something."

"Aren't we all?" For a fleeting moment, his eyes landed on Ruth and then drifted over to the window.

"I should check to see if Malcolm has sent us anything," Ruth offered. "Maybe have the team look into Ronnie."

"No. This is for our eyes only. You see what you can find out. Everything that happens here stays between you and me."

She suppressed a smile, inwardly preening. He had chosen her, trusted her, whatever happened in Baghdad would be known only to them. Her heart turned sideways and caught in her throat. Whatever happened between them would stay Bahgdad.

They finished their meal, and Ruth checked for any communication from Malcolm. Harry closed the curtains, shutting out the night, and a contagious yawn passed from him to Ruth. With a silent agreement, they decided to retire. There was no discussion about the sleeping arrangements as if by not talking about it, the fact that they had to share a bed it did not exist. Harry retired to the bathroom, the efficient swish of his toothbrush filtering into the room. Ruth quickly changed into her pyjamas, thankful that she had brought a modest set, though she really didn't have anything that risqué in the first place. It had been a long time since she had shared a bed with a man. She hastily ordered her clothes sensing that her wardrobe would have to last for a few days. She snatched a book from her suitcase and slipped between the covers of the bed, the sheets chaffing against her skin, stiff from industrial washings. She always had to read before going to sleep, there was no other way to distract her teeming mind. She cracked open the Seven Pillars of Wisdom, greedily drinking Lawrence's words like contraband. Mesopotamia, a land carved up and spliced back together by British mandate, a spoil of the First World War.

The door to the bathroom creaked open and she quickly closed the book, stashing it in the bedside table. It shouldn't matter if Harry discovered that she was reading Lawrence, her interest in the subject was documented in her file, but after his speech on the balcony, she didn't want to give him any reason to doubt her professionalism. She clicked off the bedside lamp and turned onto her side, facing away from the bathroom. A zipper rasped followed by the rustling of clothes as Harry rummaged through his suitcase. The bed dipped as he lay down, the movement causing Ruth to inhale sharply. She held her breath, not wanting to stir the air. She sensed that he had not slipped beneath the sheets but instead had gotten hold of a blanket and lay on top of the covers. His voice drifted to her in the semi-darkness.

"Some say that book is more a work of fiction than a biography."

He knew. Somehow he knew what she had been reading. She didn't turn to him but spoke out into the room.

"I suppose we all create our own reality."

There was silence, and then the bed creaked as he shifted onto his side. "Goodnight, Ruth." He switched off his light.

Ruth lay awake, staring at the sliver of light shining through the curtains. Tired though she was, she would never be able to sleep with him in the same bed. She longed for her own bed, her little house, Fidget. Strange, to feel homesickness at her age. It was only for a few nights. She could do it. The air conditioner hummed and she closed her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The sound of running water trickled through the fog of her sleep, and thoughts of wakefulness stole into Ruth's mind. She groggily wondered how Fidget had managed to turn on the tap. She cracked open an eye. Motes of dust swirled on a beam of morning sun peaking through a pair of unfamiliar curtains. This wasn't her house. Her eyes opened wider and she looked about the room. Instantly, the previous day's journey came flooding back and she was reminded of her new reality. She was in Baghdad sharing a room with Harry. Turning her head on the pillow, she found the other side of the bed unoccupied and summarized that Harry was taking a shower. She needed to take advantage of the window of opportunity to get dressed. Her brain stuttered into gear and she stumbled out of bed. She quickly donned her trousers, though her shirt took more concentration than she could muster. She was not a morning person. The water stopped and a tuneless whistle filtered in from the bathroom. Ruth squeezed her eyes shut. Whistling in the morning should be outlawed.

"Did you sleep alright?"

Ruth looked up in surprise. Harry had padded into the room with the stealth of her cat. She fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, realised they were misaligned and then set to hurriedly reworking them as she answered his question. "Yes, I-"

"You were moving around a bit last night."

"Was I?" She frowned. "Sorry."

Harry moved to the mirror that hung over the desk and worked the strands of his tie with a practised ease. "You were saying something. I couldn't quite make it out."

Ruth's mouth dropped in mortification. "I don't talk in my sleep," she protested.

"Mumbling, then." Harry's eyes remained on the mirror, as his fingers straightened the knot of his tie.

Ruth gave the zip of her suitcase a definitive pull and spoke under her breath. "I don't mumble either."

As she walked past the mirror, Ruth caught Harry's eye. She couldn't tell if his observations were true or if he was merely teasing her. She retreated to the bathroom and closed the door, vowing she would not let anyone undermine her confidence, least of all him.

A large black SUV idled outside the entrance of the hotel and Ruth settled herself in beside Harry. Though there was hardly any traffic on the streets, the car moved at a sedate pace. Ruth took full advantage of her seat by the window, tilting her head to get the full view. She could sense Harry's eyes on her, and she replayed his comment about them not being sightseers. Oh well, she would never be here again; she would take advantage of what little she was allowed to see. The car turned toward the giant teal dome, and they headed to the former Republican Palace, now the headquarters for the Coalition Provisional Authority.

Their car deposited them at a checkpoint, leaving her and Harry to walk up the circular drive. Harry's head tilted and he stopped for a moment to look at the glistening dome of the palace. She smiled. Obviously, he was not immune to the sights either.

"It was built by King Faisal II for his bride in nineteen-fifty," she informed him. "But he never lived in it. He was assassinated before they were married."

Harry gave her a slow look.

"I'm not being a tourist," she hastily defended herself. "Just relaying local facts."

Harry continued on, and they were able to bypass the line that snaked down the drive and go straight to the Palace entrance. The teal colour scheme continued on as she walked through the doors into the large rotunda, the ornate gold filigree clashing with the metal detectors and military personnel. A young American soldier asked for her passport. She smiled nervously, perspiration pooling under her arms even though they were standing in air-conditioned comfort.

"I didn't expect it to be this hot here."

"I'm from Arizona, ma'am" the soldier replied blandly.

She fumbled for her passport, wishing that she had thought to retrieve it earlier. A tube of lipstick fell out of the laptop bag, clinking as it hit the tiled floor. Ruth froze. Harry looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. The young soldier picked up the tube of lipstick off the ground a looked at it suspiciously. He read the colour aloud.

"Naughty plum."

"It a very hard to find shade." She kept her voice as light as possible.

"Well, you wouldn't want to lose it then, would you Ma'am?"

He handed the tube back to her. She gave him a grateful smile and stowed it in her trouser pocket. The soldier held his hand out for her laptop bag and motioned for her to step through the detector. After searching her bag with extreme thoroughness, he returned it to her.

"Have a good day, Ma'am."

Accepting the bag, Ruth moved off to where Harry stood waiting for her, now joined by Ronnie and Philip. Harry leaned into her as they walked down the hall.

"Making friends?"

"Just playing nice." Ruth zipped up her bag. "You should try it sometime."

As the group moved further into the Palace, the military presence receded, overtaken by employees of the U.S. State Department - young men dressed in khakis and blazers, hurrying about, obviously engaged in very important tasks. A large, slightly balding man with a Texas drawl greeted them.

"Welcome to Baghdad." He stuck out his hand. "Libby McCaul."

Harry shook the man's hand and introduced Ruth. Not meriting a handshake, she only received a nod from McCaul.

"Good of you to come all this way. We've got a lot of ground to cover. But I'm sure you want to get some chow first."

McCaul led them along a corridor, the route decorated with posters hailing Bush and Cheney, words of caution, various items for sale. They entered a dining area set up inside a large marble hall. Servers in white shirts and black bow ties stood behind buffet tables offering bacon and eggs, doughnuts and a host of other delicacies. Overwhelmed by the choice, Ruth opted for toast and coffee, but notice that Harry did not hesitate to avail himself of a full breakfast. The group found a table and arranged themselves in a hierarchy, which seemed to have become the norm on this trip; Ruth separated from Harry by Ronnie and Philip. Ruth glanced around the hall, heads having turned her way, making her very much aware of her status as a female and in the minority. The cacophony of American accents was disconcerting and for a moment she wondered if she was in the right country or if she had fallen down a rabbit hole and stumbled upon a mad tea party. McCaul dominated the conversation with Harry, and once again Ruth was left with Philip. It was going to be a very lonely time.

"The worker's behind the counters, they aren't Iraqi's are they?" she asked.

"No," Philip concurred. "They're from the Philippines. They import everything here. Food, workers, you name it. The Americans don't trust the locals."

Ruth gave the man an incredulous look, and he responded by giving her a shrug of his shoulders. She stored the information away for later use.

Breakfast concluded, and the party moved on. Ruth fell into step behind the men as they followed McCaul down a winding hallway. Gilded rooms that were once the domain of the Iraqi elite had been requisitioned for offices or living quarters. Ruth slowed down to take a better look at a giant ballroom festooned with the ever-present palette of turquoise and gold.

"Ruth," Harry warned over his shoulder. As usual, he had the uncanny ability to sense when she had fallen out of step with him.

"You know how women are, Harry," McCaul drawled. "Always looking at the decor."

The men laughed at McCaul's quip, and Ruth waited for Harry to come to her defence. He did not. Instead, he carried on with his counterparts. She narrowed her eyes at his back and quickened her pace to catch up.

McCaul breezed them through another checkpoint manned by what she assumed were CIA personnel. They were escorted to a room where a number of people were already seated at a glossy wooden table. Harry and the men joined the group at the table, while Ruth was relegated to a seat on the perimeter. She was heartened to see that Philip had received the same fate as her, along with a number of other people she assumed were also lowly analysts. In all, there were ten people in the room. She took out her pad, ready to write anything down.

McCaul introduce one of the men at the table as Tim Adler, who Ruth deduced was head of the Iraq Survey Group, the CIA team tasked with finding weapons of mass destruction. Harry did not introduce Ruth; in fact, none of the analysts were named or acknowledged. It was a disconcerting feeling to be ignored, far from the usual respect she commanded in the briefing room at Thames House. At first, she bridled at being treated like a piece of furniture but consoled herself with the thought that fading into the woodwork could be advantageous. Her chair was placed squarely behind Harry, and she studied the back of his neck, the clean line of his hair sitting just above his collar. It was strange not to be sitting beside him, unable to see his reactions, though having known him for such a long time she could guess at his expressions.

"I'm going to cut through the fat here, gentlemen, and get straight to the point." McCaul sat back in his chair commanding the room. "We value our coalition partners, so this is going to be a joint operation, with selective information sharing that will further our goal."

"That being?" asked Harry.

"We have information that there are a number of weapons stockpiled throughout the country."

Ruth sat up in her chair, a million questions running through her mind. Sensing her curiosity, Harry shifted in his seat and tilted his head, wordlessly warning her to hold her peace.

"Forgive me, but we've been on this merry chase for a while. What makes this different?"

"Our source."

"Verified, I should hope. After all, it was unreliable sources that got us into this war in the first place."

"Hey," McCaul raised his hands, abdicating responsibility. "It was you guys that fed us that source."

"That was Six's doing," Harry countered. "Five is just cleaning up the mess."

"We gave the government a caveat," said Ronnie, tapping his fingers on the table. "We told them it was unverified but they chose to go ahead."

Ruth followed the exchange as each man undercut the other. In meetings such as these, it had always been the Section Chief who had accompanied Harry, so Ruth watched the verbal sparring match with fascination.

"Well, we're here now," Libby continued, "We've freed the Iraqi people from tyranny, which was our prime objective and now we're working on the second. We know this source is solid because we've already purchased a number of warheads containing Sarin."

"You're buying them?" Harry made no effort to hide his astonishment.

"Yes. Out of necessity. Our source was more than willing to sell them to someone else. You may not have noticed but there's an insurgency happening here. It's imperative that we keep these weapons out of the wrong hands. And it's not just us; your government is buying them too. I don't need to say this is all highly sensitive. If this got out it could be misconstrued as funding potential terrorist activities, which it is not. Going forward, we've named the operation Avarice on our side, and Bedouin on yours."

"What's Fives involvement in all this?"

"It's not just chemical weapons." Adler sat forward in his chair and lowered his voice. "There's a nuclear component. And one of the sources is in London."

"And you want us to track him down?"

"We've got Intel from one scientist here but the man in London knows the location."

"And this other scientist has now just come forward with this information?"

"After a little coaxing." Libby gave Harry a knowing smile.

"Coaxing?" said Harry. "You mean 'enhanced interrogation'?"

"Come on," Adler shook his head at Harry. "These guys are living it up, off of our dime. The State Department's got a man out here - Wilson. He's tracking them down and paying them compensation."

Adler had said the man's name with such contempt that Ruth immediately wrote it down and underlined it.

"Come on Harry, none of us wants to be here," said Libby. "This isn't our war. Hell, we're still looking for UBL. We find weapons and then we get out of here. Give the Intel a once-over and make your own decisions."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Although Ruth couldn't see Harry's expression, she had a clear line of sight to the self-satisfied grin on Libby's face.

"Good." McCaul looked around the room, taking back control of the meeting. "I don't need to remind you that nothing leaves this room. Nothing leaves Baghdad. That's why we're all here." He waved his hand around the outside of the room. "Let's get the analysts together and they can hash through the Intel. Make sure we're all on the same page."

The men at the table stood up, followed by the spectators that had been sitting around the room. Ruth stepped up to Harry.

"What do you think of all this?" she whispered.

"We'll talk about it later," he whispered back, eyes darting around the room. "See what Intel the Americans are willing to give over."

McCaul called to Harry from across the room. Harry leant back into Ruth. "UBL?"

"Osama Bin-Laden."

Harry nodded and then walked away leaving Ruth to fend for herself. Abandoned with new playmates, she was left to navigate the schoolyard alone. She chastised herself; after all this was one of the scenarios she had anticipated, that the mission might consist of her never seeing Harry. She was a professional, a crack analyst, she could hold her own. She shored up her courage, ready to handle anything the Americans might throw at her. A tall man with a shock of blonde hair greeted her with a guarded smile.

"I'm Todd."

Keeping his hands in his pockets, the American analyst sized up Ruth, no doubt coming to the same conclusion that everyone else had formed of her on the trip. She was merely a woman and not to be considered a threat. She took a moment to assess his cool confidence.

"Ruth Evershed."

Philip came to join them and Todd flashed him a smile of recognition. She couldn't be certain but she was sure that Philip had rolled his eyes. They had the air of two older brothers forced to play with their younger, less appealing sibling.

"If you'll follow me, I'll take you to our secure room."

Ruth cast a furtive eye over her shoulder, wondering if she would ever see Harry again. She followed behind Todd as he led them to a coded door. Ruth craned her neck, hoping to see the combination as Todd pressed the buttons, but he cupped his hand over it. Smart man. The room on the other side crackled with activity, filling her with a longing for the Grid. Todd led them through a maze of laminated desks and dividers, passing by a bank of monitors that displayed aerial footage of the surrounding countryside. They entered a small anteroom, and Todd closed the door, mercifully dampening the outside noise. He set his bag down on the table and pulled out his computer, leaving Ruth and Philip to follow suit. Ruth powered up her device, finding security behind the wall of her digital world.

Todd took out a file folder and pushed it across the table to Ruth. "This contains the code names of our sources. If you come across any ancillary information, we need you to share it along with any of your code designations."

Ruth opened the file and scanned the pages, curiously noting that Philip did not receive a folder.

"From this point forward," said Todd. "Nizaar Hassan, the man you are looking for in London, will be referred to as Windwalker. The scientist here in Iraq, Abdul el-Kazi, will be Passenger.

"And the source that you're buying the weapons from?" asked Ruth.

"That's Firecracker."

"Firecracker," echoed Ruth. "But what's his real name?"

Todd leaned back in his chair. "I can't divulge that information."

"That's part of the selective sharing, is it?" Ruth gave him a half smile in a bid to take the edge off of her question, knowing that she had to follow her own advice and play nice in order to get information. "How can we verify them as a source if we don't know who they are?"

"You don't need to worry about that. Their Intel has been solid. We have a site."

"I thought only Hassan, I mean Windwalker, knew where the site was."

Todd's shoulders stiffened. "I was talking about the site for the chemical weapons."

A look passed between Todd and Philip. They were freezing her out, and she had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't due to testosterone; there was something else at play. She had noticed the movement of Todd's shoulders. He wasn't as cool as he thought he was. He had let something slip, but Ruth decided not to press it.

"How does Firecracker pass on information to you?"

"We have an intermediary."

"Do they have a codename?"

"Shadow. And before you ask, I can't tell you who they are."

Philip leaned forward in his chair. "You know, Ruth…"

Ruth looked at him with mild surprise, silently amazed that he was actually speaking to her.

"We've got a handle on this Intel at Six," Philip explained slowly as if he were talking to a child. "All we need for you to do is find Hassan."

Ruth looked between the two men, inwardly seething at being cut out of the intelligence loop. "Alright then, do you have any further Intel on Hassan and the other scientist…' Ruth checked the file. "El-Kazi?"

"I can check to see what we have on file. But nothing can leave the station so I'll bring it in here." Todd stood up from his seat.

"Can I use your facilities?" asked Philip.

"Yeah, I'll show you," replied Todd.

The two men exited the room leaving Ruth to stew in silence. She folded her arms, her mind wandering back to Harry's office a few weeks ago when Ros had stormed in and accused him and Adam of being part of an old boys club. Never in a million years did she ever think she would empathise with Ros. Information was power and she was not going to leave that room until she had learned everything possible. The smooth silver case of Philip's laptop lay closed on the table. Ruth pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth in contemplation. Her eyes roved about the room, trying to discern if there were any monitoring devices. She glanced at the door. How much time did she have?

She logged into her mobile with one hand and reached into her pocket with the other. Her fingers curled around the tube of lipstick and she popped the cap revealing a USB connector. Malcolm and his toys. The video she had captured on the plane played on her phone. Taking a deep breath, she opened Philip's computer and placed her fingers on the keys. She typed in a password. Access denied. Shit. She made another attempt. Denied. She stopped and weighed her options. If she failed at another attempt, the computer could lock, and Philip would know that she had tried to crack his system. She slowed down the playback on her phone. Taking a deep breath, she slowly keyed in the password. The screen flashed open. She exhaled a huge sigh and slid the USB stick into the port. Bars slowly filled up across the dialogue box as Ruth's eyes moved to the door. Her fingers tapped against each other as she resisted the temptation to pull out the flash drive. If she pulled out the USB drive to soon the transfer would not be complete. The door handle rattled. Ruth jumped. She pulled out the USB stick, praying that the data had not been corrupted, and logged off the computer. The door handle rattled again and then opened. Thankfully, Todd's attention was focused on juggling a number of folders in his arms. Ruth smiled. It was always the analyst's fate to be buried under folders. She rose and helped him with his load. He seemed genuinely surprised by her offer of assistance and gave her a smile of thanks.

"You know Ruth, everyone is probably going for a drink later. You should come along."

Ruth's mind automatically rebelled at the request, but she quelled her knee-jerk reaction to decline. "Sure. Why not?"

"Great. I'll show you around a bit."

"I'll have to connect up with my boss at some point."

"I'm sure he'll be at the pool too."

Todd set the files on the table and sat down, leaving Ruth to stand and wonder what exactly he meant by the pool. The door opened and Philip entered. Ruth hastily took her seat and flipped through the folders, surreptitiously watching Philip out of the corner of her eye. The other analyst sat down and opened his computer. He paused for a moment and studied the screen. Ruth stared blindly at the pages in front of her. Had she been made? Philip typed in his password and carried on; giving no indication that he knew that someone had tampered with his computer. Ruth sat back in her chair and let out a quiet sigh. She looked up to see Todd watching her. She bestowed upon him her most dazzling smile, and he returned a crooked grin. Perhaps her charms would not go to waste after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Like a mole released from its lair, Ruth squinted against the brilliant sun as she stepped out from the depths of the palace and onto the patio. Sounds of splashing water and laughter floated over the strains of an indistinguishable pop song. She stood, transfixed. The pool of a former dictator had been turned into a playground for Coalition personnel, creating the illusion that they were far from a war-torn country. The palace pool, unlike the one at the al-Rashid, was filled to the brim with temptingly blue water. A bead of perspiration trickled down Ruth's spine. If only she could dive right in. Two women wearing bathing suits walked past, and Todd peered over the top of his sunglasses.

"Did you bring your bikini, Ruth?"

"No, I didn't."

"Too bad," he commented, a roguish grin on his face.

At some point in the afternoon, they had lost the company of Philip, and at his absence, Todd's demeanour had thawed significantly towards her. He touched her elbow.

"They're all sitting over there."

On the opposite side of the pool sat Harry along with McCaul and Ronnie, as well as another man whom she did not recognise.

"Who is that?" Ruth asked Todd, motioning to the table.

"I think he's with Indian Intelligence." Todd waved his hand, brushing off her question. "Can't remember his name."

Ruth suspected that Todd was very much aware of the identity of the man. A peal of raucous laughter erupted from the table, and Ruth narrowed her eyes, remembering how Harry had chastised her the night before; they were here for work, not for pleasure, they needed to stay focused. As the laughter receded, the man from Indian Intelligence turned his head and looked straight at Ruth. Caught off guard, Ruth quickly looked away, her eyes landing on Harry. Her boss continued to talk to McCaul, giving no indication that he was even remotely aware of her presence.

"You go over there and find a seat," Todd suggested. "I'll get us a beer."

Todd walked away before she could voice her preference for a different type of beverage, leaving Ruth to navigate her way to the other side of the pool. Along the route, she received a number of admiring glances and a faint whistle. Apparently, one didn't need to wear a bathing suit to get attention, the only criteria was to be a woman. The water looked invitingly cool; the temptation to tear off her clothes and sink into its depths tugged at her, or at the very least, take off a shoe and test it with a toe, but she called upon her willpower and resisted the siren call of the swimming pool. As she approached the table, the men looked her way. All that is, except for Harry. He looked out over the pool, his expression unreadable, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark glasses. For some reason, the new accessory irked Ruth; they were a sign of his admittance into the club and a reminder of her own outsider status. Lounging in his chair, he made no effort to offer her a seat. Jacket off, shirt undone, the tip of his red tie peeking cheekily out over the edge of his jacket pocket, he looked as cool as the water of the pool. Chairs were shifted about, and Ruth found herself sitting beside the man from Indian Intelligence. He smiled at her and held out his hand.

"Amish Mani," he introduced himself. He took off his glasses and raked an eye over her. His eyes were almost black and unnervingly penetrating. Keeping a hold on her hand, he turned to Harry. "You didn't mention that your analyst was so lovely."

"She's more than that," Harry responded, a subtle edge to his voice.

"I'm sure she is, Harry." Mani turned back to Ruth. "I'm sure she is."

Ruth looked at Mani blankly, refusing to be embarrassed by his innuendo. She extracted her hand from his.

"What brings you to Baghdad?" she asked.

"The same reason everyone else is here - secrets."

Todd returned with Ruth's drink and claimed the seat beside her. Mani's eyes flickered to the other analyst and then back to Ruth.

"Tell me, Ruth, how do you like Baghdad so far?"

"It's nothing like what I expected," she commented. "I mean this part."

"There's really no reason to leave the Green Zone," McCaul proclaimed.

"I believe they're changing the name to the International Zone," Ruth corrected him. "Bit more inclusive, don't you think?"

McCaul's face remained set in stone, while Harry quickly took a sip of his ale, covering up the hint of a smile.

"I'd like to see what the rest of the city is like," Ruth continued.

"You can't go out without an armed escort," said Todd, taking a swig of his beer. "It's too much of a hassle. Besides, you're a…"

"A woman?" Ruth finished the sentence for him.

Todd raised his palms signalling that it was a fact of nature and there was nothing to be done about it. At that point, McCaul and Ronnie took over the conversation, withdrawing the spotlight from Ruth and leaving her on the fringes of the gathering. Droplets of water had condensed on the beer bottle, and she took a sip, the liquid surprisingly refreshing. Hot and thirsty, she took a few larger gulps and tried to remember the last time she had drank ale from a bottle. It was all vaguely fraternity like; or what she imagined one would be like. Even though she was sitting under an umbrella, the sun found her, its rays pricking her forearms, the skin on her nose becoming tight. Another beer appeared on the table, and her eyes widened with surprise. A glance at Harry told her that he was in no hurry to leave, a fresh drink sitting in front of him too.

Todd leaned in and draped his arm on the back of Ruth's chair. "I know we're not supposed to get along, but I'm really tired of talking to men all the time."

Ruth picked up her beer with her left hand making sure to position her wedding ring so that it was visible. Todd didn't seem to notice. A part of her was a little pleased that the ring didn't deter him; it was not often that a blond American who looked to be at least a few years her junior made a pass at her. She decided to press her advantage and leaned into him.

"Adler mentioned someone named Wilson at the briefing."

"Pain in the ass. He works for the Office of Non-proliferation. They've got this idea of rounding up the scientist and paying them. Which is pretty ridiculous considering they were designing the weapons that started this in the first place."

"Is Wilson here?"

"He's got an office somewhere on the other side of the compound. But you don't want to hang out with people from the State Department. They're not like us, right?"

Todd leaned in closer and tipped his beer toward her, the necks of the bottles clinking in sympathetic agreement. It was a small gesture - the promise of admittance into the club if she played by their rules. With a coy little smile, she gave him a flirtatious lift of her shoulder. A large splash reverberated around the pool, the spray of water tickling the exposed skin of her arms. Todd dipped his head in closer.

"You know, they sell bathing suits here," he informed her.

A cough came from the other side of the table, accompanied by the clank of a bottle as it was set down on the glass top.

"It's time to go."

Harry's voice cut through the interagency camaraderie, and the smile fell from Ruth's lips. Across the table, his eyes still hidden by his sunglasses, he looked at her long enough to assert his dominance and then rose from his seat. Mani gave Ruth a sly smile, reminding her of Ros, though his demeanour was a thousand times more odious. She stood up and steadied herself on the edge of the table, the effects of the alcohol rushing to her head. Todd put out a hand to help her.

"Just the heat," she murmured.

The smiles that passed between the men did not go unnoticed, but she ignored them and picked up her laptop bag. Trailing behind once again, she followed Harry and Ronnie through the Palace and outside to a waiting car. She climbed into the back seat with Harry and remained silent. There was no opportunity to discuss anything, Ronnie's presence in the vehicle precluded that, but even after the other agent had been dropped off, there was still no conversation. Harry remained quiet so as not to reveal anything to the driver, but she was mute for her own reasons. He had left her alone with the American analyst, withheld the framework for the mission, given her no idea of his whereabouts, and sat by while the other men at the table had been decidedly patronising. He should have spoken up and come to her defence, or at the very least, saved her a seat. She stared out the window, bitterly watching the scenery go by, reluctantly coming to the conclusion that Harry was not going to coddle her. He certainly wouldn't have done it for Adam, he wouldn't have pampered Ros; in fact, Ros would have taken the men down a peg. But Ruth wasn't like the other officers, she was more to Harry, she was ….

The car pulled into the roundabout of the hotel, and her thoughts were brought back to the present moment.

Exhausted, Ruth followed Harry into the hotel room. He immediately went over to the air conditioning unit and turned up the dial, the whirr of the fan filling the room. Plopping down on the edge of the bed, Ruth wiped a tired hand over her face.

"So what do you think of all this?"

Harry put a finger to his lips motioning for her to be quiet. Irritated, Ruth crossed her arms. She was tired of being shut out and scowled as Harry ran a hand behind the mirror and then under the desk. It was only when he unscrewed the light bulb from the lamp that she realised that he was looking for bugs. Ruth stared at him wide-eyed, communicating her disbelief at his actions. He shrugged his shoulders. With the tip of his key, he took off the plate of a wall socket and held up a small, black piece of plastic. Ruth's mouth fell open as Harry dropped the tiny piece of plastic on to the floor and ground it under the heel. Ruth contemplated the broken device as she sifted through her memory of the night before, trying to recall details of the conversation between herself and Harry.

"Why would they bug us?" she whispered, in case Harry had not found all the devices. "We don't know anything."

"They want to keep it that way."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this information sharing session is anything but."

"I couldn't agree with you more." Ruth crossed over to the table and placed the laptop bag on it. "The Americans gave me nothing, but I did manage to get this." She pulled out the lipstick case.

Harry crossed to her and took the lipstick. He looked at it curiously, raising an eyebrow. "Naughty Plum?"

She swiped it back from him with a cross look and unscrewed the top revealing the USB drive.

"Info that I lifted from Philip's computer. I still have to go through it and see if there is anything on it, but I have a feeling the Americans shared more with Six than they did with us."

"That's why I brought you." He gave her a satisfied smile.

She looked away, strangely embarrassed by his comment, it was part of her job, but after a day of feeling like a second-class citizen, Harry's words were a balm to her wounded ego. She sat down at the table and started up the computer.

"Shall I get us some food?" He motioned to the door, his voice lacking its usual authority.

He wasn't asking about food, he was asking if she needed some privacy just as he had done the evening before when she had taken her shower. She nodded.

"That would be nice."

The door closed softly behind him.

A layer of dust covered her skin even though she had been inside for most of the day. She longed to lounge in the bath and let the water soak away everything, but stood under the shower and hastily scrubbed herself off. She went back to wearing the loose blouse and skirt from the evening before, remaining barefoot, feeling bohemian. Too hot and tired to care what she looked like, she didn't even bother to check her appearance in the mirror. They were sharing a room, there was no point in upholding any pretence, so many lines had already been moved. She set to combing through the files from Philip's computer. So absorbed was she in her review that she jumped when the door opened and let out a sigh of relief when she realised it was only Harry.

Harry brought over two bottles of water, and the same repast as the night before, the smell of the kebabs filled the room. He pulled a chair around from the other side of the table and sat down beside her. There was something of a ritual to their movements, breaking bread, sharing the food from one plate, eating with their hands.

"Have you found anything?" he asked.

"It's going to take a while to sort through it. There's everything here. Phone surveillance, electrical grids, food shipments."

"You've got some time tomorrow to work on it."

"I've been trying to figure it out; if chemical weapons have been found, why Six and the CIA aren't releasing the information. I mean, it would be the big find that exonerates everyone."

"McCaul wants us to visit a site. A cache of chemical weapons the army discovered."

"When are you going?"

"Day after tomorrow. You're coming too." He moved the hummus in her direction when she opened her mouth to protest. "You should try this it's really good."

He took a bite of the bread and looked at her innocently as if he had not suggested they just go off to some undisclosed site with a foreign intelligence service. She dipped a piece of bread in the hummus.

"I want to track down this Wilson."

"Who is that?"

"The man who is keeping track of scientists."

"Don't go outside the Green Zone," Harry warned her.

"He's inside the International Zone," she advised him.

Harry nodded. "Don't do it alone. I'll come with you."

Ruth continued to scroll through the documents, black bars blotting out names and places. "Looks like they haven't shared everything with Six either."

"Well, you know what they say about information sharing…."

"Don't share more than you have to," Ruth finished his sentence. She motioned to the screen. "This keeps popping up."

He placed his arm on the back of her chair and leaned in to see where her finger pointed. She eased back a fraction, the presence of his arm on her chair far more comforting than that of the American analyst.

"Providence," he read the name aloud."

"It looks like a camp in Iraq."

As she spoke, she turned to him and her breath stopped at the proximity of his cheek. It had been weeks since they had sat that close, an unspoken agreement of allowable space having risen between them. As he read the report, she studied his jaw, noticing a patch of bristle that had eluded his razor. Her hand dropped to her lap, overcome by the urge to run her finger across it, and feel the scrape of the whiskers against her skin. The muscle of his jaw flexed, and her mouth moved, pursing with the silent want to press her lips against that spot. He turned to her and she was caught out, her scrutiny of him exposed, but she couldn't look away. His eyes ran over her face.

"Looks like you got a bit of sun."

"Oh?" she replied breathlessly. "I wasn't out that long."

"Doesn't take much when you're not used to it."

"No, I suppose not."

The redacted document blinked forgotten on the screen. Harry's arm subtly curved on the back of her chair, and the muscle of her shoulder responded in kind, discreetly dipping toward him. His head tilted closer. Or was it her head that moved?

"The sun is very different here," he observed.

"Everything is different here," she whispered.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and then returned to her eyes. "Is it?"

It was a question ripe with infinite answers, and she knew the one that he wanted to hear. Their everyday lives had been left on a tarmac in England. In this city, the air swirled with intrigue and possibility. Anything that happened in Baghdad was to stay between them; anything that happened between them would stay in Baghdad. An ancient land that invited secrets. Her skin grew flush under his gaze. If only there was some way to cool it down. A dive was dangerous, but she could dip in a toe - steal one kiss, just to know the taste of him.

A buzz emitted from Harry's phone. Neither of them moved. A muscle in his neck twitched, but he did not look away.

"It's a reminder to check in with the Grid," he said softly.

She nodded. "And what happens if you don't call in?"

"They'll send someone to get us."

"Well, we don't want that, do we?"

The allure of being alone with him had grown ten-fold. Don't break the spell, she implored him with her eyes. They had not swum in this delicious limbo for such a long time, the state of floating between idea and reality, never quite completing the act. And even if they were to act, there was no one here to see.

The phone buzzed again. Harry took a long, slow breath, his arm tensing, fist balling near her shoulder, resisting a forward pull. Did she possess the ability to distract him? She had never thought of herself as a seductress, but a strange sense of power swirled within her, and after his treatment of her over the past few days, she wondered if she still had the ability to sway him. Could she reduce him with a kiss? It would be a gamble, for she wasn't entirely confident that she could stop there. One toe in the pool might not be enough; she might need to submerse herself, let the water touch every part of her body to feel completely cool. Harry closed his eyes, the bob of his Adam's apple signalling his internal struggle. A flame licked within her as she witnesses his inner dilemma. He leaned in, his lips close to her ear, and her mouth opened in response to the tickle of his breath on her lobe as he spoke.

"We don't know who is watching us."

The air condition wheezed, kicking over into a higher setting, sending a cool burst of air into the room. Doused by reality, Ruth's body stiffened and she turned her head away from him. A moment went by, and then two before he slowly withdrew his arm and reached for his mobile. He stood up and punched in the numbers for the Grid.

Ruth stared at the screen, the breath of reason returning to her. From what strange garden had her thoughts sprung? It was the heat, the alcohol, the lack of sleep. Harry's voice floated over her. He ended the call but did not look at her.

"I've got a meeting with the Ambassador in the morning. We should get some sleep." He moved to the bathroom, and after a moment, she could hear the sound of him brushing his teeth.

She logged off the computer, watching as the screen slowly dimmed. Stay focused. They were there for one reason; she only had to last another day, two at the most. It was difficult because everything had become blurred. Once they were back in England, cold reality would set in and all the reasons why they could never pursue anything would resurface. It was imperative that she stand by the professional line that she had drawn between them. She said a quick prayer, hoping that a strong wind would not come along and erase it.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N - Thank you for continuing to read and to those of you who have kindly taken a moment to review. Somehow, I've managed to stretch this story out so I'll try and update a bit quicker._

Chapter 6

The wind howled around her, its force peeling away rotting planks as the bridge swayed precariously beneath her feet. Ruth watched in horror as a plank broke away and fell into the endless abyss. There was no choice; she couldn't go back. With a tentative step, she placed her foot on the next plank and it groaned beneath her weight but remained intact. Emboldened, she took another step. There was a loud crack and the wood snapped beneath her foot. Flailing wildly, she searched for something to latch onto, but there was nothing. Caught in gravity's grip, she struggled to maintain her balance, knowing that she could not resist forever. In the end, nature won out, and she surrendered, tumbling over into the chasm. Her mouth opened, but the scream lay silent, lodged in her throat. Closing her eyes, she sensed the ground nearing and she held her breath, muscles tensing, bracing for impact.

Ruth's body gave a sudden jerk and she awoke with a jolt. Heart thudding loudly in her chest, she lay disoriented, her breath coming in tiny gasps. The darkness around her revealed itself, and with a sigh of relief, she realised that she was in the hotel room. It had only been a dream. One of those crazy dreams about falling. In reality, she had not fallen. Not yet.

Her one arm dangled over the side of the bed, her leg almost off, the rest of her body a hair's breath away from rolling over the edge and onto the floor. Instinct must have told her she was about to fall. She should listen to her instinct more often. She inched back onto the bed, careful not to move the mattress and disturb her fellow occupant. Needles shot through her arm as she unfolded it from beneath her head, the limb a victim of her bid to take up as little room as possible. The muscle in her calf seized, and she winced with pain, a cramp constricting her leg. Muscles crying to be stretched, she eased onto her back, her body giving thanks as the blood began to circulate. She lay for a moment, her ears picking up the nocturnal sounds of her companion. Harry's breathing was deep and rhythmic, indicating that he was having a far calmer night's rest than she. Overcome with curiosity she rolled over, and her breath hitched at his proximity. Lying on his side, he faced away from her, the bulk of his form outlined in the darkness, the blanket on his shoulder moving with each inhalation. In sleep, divested of his usual armour, he looked completely vulnerable. The warm musk of his slumber filled her nostrils, awakening tendrils of dormant longing. Her hand tingled as the blood flowed back into it, and she flexed her fingers, stretching them out toward him. A wave of heat emanated from his body, and she imagined her fingers drawing along his shoulder, tracing over the muscles of his back, discovering the man that lay beneath the suit, feeling the heat of him next to her skin. How many times had he touched her shoulder, her back, come up behind her, standing so close she could feel his breath on her neck? The tempo of his breathing changed and without warning, he rolled over. She snatched her hand back, recoiling as if she had been bitten, her heart thudding erratically in her chest at having almost been caught.

"Everything alright?" he asked in a voice husky with sleep.

"Yes, I just…" She took a moment to steady her voice. "Just got a cramp in my leg."

"Hmm," he answered groggily.

"It's alright. Go back to sleep."

She turned over and faced the window, curling up into a tight little ball, returning to her spot at the edge of the bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she blocked out all her illicit thoughts and searched once again for sleep.

.

Running water sounded from the bathroom, an echo of the previous day. Was this to be their routine? Her mobile told her it was seven-thirty, and her eyes flickered shut, exhausted, her internal clock still battling with the time change. There was no time to lounge about, she told herself as she goaded her sluggish limbs to action; she needed to get dressed before Harry got out of the shower. The water stopped. With herculean effort, she dragged herself out of the bed, and ferreted about for her skirt, wagering that it would be far cooler than trousers. Having found her bra, she pulled out a fresh blouse and caught sight of herself in a mirror hanging over the desk. Her fingers ran through her hair, tousled in wild disarray from having gone to bed with it still damp. Oh well, she wasn't on this mission to be attractive. Though she wanted to be. And the longer they stayed in Baghdad, the higher the risk that she would give into a host of other wants. She sat down on the edge of the bed in order to concentrate on the buttons of her blouse. The haste of dressing had made her warm and she gathered up the bottom of her skirt to feel the breeze from the air conditioner, lecturing herself as she returned to her buttons. Keep it professional, last for two more days until they had visited the site, then they would return to London and the reality of why nothing could happen between them. Her fingers fell away from the buttons. Why had nothing happened between them? She had wrestled with temptation last night, why hadn't he? Two nights in the same bed, and there had been no accidental touching, no brushing of the legs, no waking up with an errant arm across a stomach. What if he had come around to her way of thinking; that it was better for them not to be involved? Was it possible she had lost him?

"Don't know if they'll have any sort of breakfast at Maude House," Harry mused as he walked into the room. "We should see if we can find something-"

His voice trailed off, and Ruth looked up at him from where she was sitting. His eyes were locked on her, and she followed the trajectory of his gaze. Lost in thought, she had forgotten to do up her blouse, the depth of her cleavage revealed, a large swathe of pale skin cupped in lace on display.

"I'm sorry," Harry stuttered in apology.

"It's..ah..." She hastily closed the fabric of her shirt. "It's okay."

"I didn't..."

Their words overlapped, and Harry remained motionless, staring at her, the only movement the rise and fall of his chest. A blush blossomed over her face as she contemplated the picture she must have presented; blouse undone, skirt hiked up, hair in a mess. It was exactly the sort of compromising position that she had been hoping to avoid. She stood up and smoothed her skirt down. Clutching her blouse closed, she walked past him, head bowed.

"I just need a second to freshen up."

She closed the bathroom door and leaned back against it. Stupid woman. Stop daydreaming. She moved to the sink and splashed a large amount of cold water on her face.

Dressed and sorted, they headed downstairs and found a breakfast buffet. It was run by an American firm, though it was substantially smaller and with fewer choices than the one at the palace. Harry gulped down a coffee, while Ruth sipped on a tepid tea and nibbled on a piece of cold toast. They scrupulously avoided eye contact, their conversation remaining minimal, Harry having returned to his previous taciturn behaviour. Her questions received monosyllabic answers and eventually, she gave up and concentrated on digging jam out of a packet. Harry tapped his fingers on the table, telegraphing that there was no time to linger. He stood up and she hurriedly washed down her last bite of toast. She followed him through the lobby, distracted by an annoying twist in the strap of her laptop bag.

The bright morning light hit her squarely in the eyes, foretelling the heat of the day to come. Harry had already donned his sunglasses, rendering him inscrutable. It was quiet along the street, barely any traffic, and they headed off down the pavement. Harry strode along with a firmness of purpose, oblivious to her struggle with the laptop bag. Squinting into the brightness, Ruth did her best to keep up with him. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to slow down, but if she couldn't even keep up with him for a short walk what good was she. He stopped abruptly, and she nearly ran into him.

"I almost forgot." He padded his jacket pocket. "These are for you." He pulled out a pair of black sunglasses.

Ruth stared at them suspiciously. He motioned for her to take them.

"I hope they fit. I got them at the PX yesterday."

She looked down at the glasses in his hand, her mouth twitching at the thought that he had possessed them the entire time she had sat out in the glaring sun yesterday afternoon. Cautiously, she accepted them and slid them onto her face. She looked up at him blandly.

"They suit you." With that, he turned and walked off, any sentiment attached to the gift instantly eradicated.

Taking a deep breath, Ruth followed him. After a few steps, her back grew straighter, and her head sat higher on her spine, the annoying twist in her strap forgotten. Her stride quickened as she kept pace with Harry. She smiled. She had earned her badge - she was now part of the club.

Within minutes, they reached the circular drive of Maude House. A cross between English colonial and Moorish architecture, it was a sprawling two-story building, bustling with activity. Ruth and Harry navigated the obligatory checkpoints, the atmosphere decidedly less heightened than that of the palace, or perhaps it was merely the absence of feeling as if one had been dropped into a part of America. The military presence was far more pronounced as the building served as a command centre as well as a diplomatic hub.

On their search for the Ambassador's office, Harry, seemingly undaunted by the noise and display, fell into conversation with a soldier. Personnel scurried around her, Ruth backed up towards a wall, hoping to stay out of their way. She bumped into the unyielding form of a large body.

"Oi! Watch where you're going!" the man barked at her.

Ruth opened her mouth to reply, but her protest was overridden.

"She's with me," Harry countered.

"Pearce? Is that you?" the officer asked.

"Indeed it is." Harry held his hand out in a cordial greeting. "Waterhouse, I should have known you'd be where ever there was trouble."

The officer's eyes skimmed over Ruth, not bothering to hide his appraisal of her appearance.

"And I should have known it would be you with a bird in tow."

Ruth's mouth dropped open, completely taken aback by the antiquated word, rendered speechless that it had been said in her presence. Another brick in the wall of invisibility.

"Ed, this is my analyst, Miss...Mrs Evershed." Harry turned to Ruth. "Colonel Waterhouse and I were stationed in Northern Ireland for a time, far too short to be remembered."

"I'm sure there are a few girls that remember you, Harry," Waterhouse gave a knowing snort.

Ruth concentrated on a poster extolling life in the British armed services, hoping to recuse herself from the ribaldry of the conversation, doing her best not to contemplate younger Harry's former exploits with the opposite sex.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Waterhouse asked.

"Bit of work with the Foreign Office."

"Making our lives difficult, more like it."

"Do you have time for a bit of a chat later. I'd like to run something by you. Just meeting up with the Ambassador now."

"I've got an office on the second floor. My adjutant can track me down if I'm not there."

"Good," Harry nodded. "See you later."

The Colonel strode away, and Harry walked off in the opposite direction; Ruth, taking a moment to realise that he had left, hurried to catch up with him.

"Bird?" she scoffed under her breath.

"Almost messed up your name. Keep forgetting that you're married."

"At least you didn't call me Mrs Pearce."

There was a hiccup in Harry's stride, and he gave her a sidelong glance, one brow arched. The teasing smile vanished from her face and a flush of embarrassment crept over her skin. She had said it without thinking, merely as a joke, but after their awkward encounter that morning her words resonated with underlying meaning. They carried on in silence, not wanting to risk any more inadvertent innuendo. They arrived at the anteroom to the ambassador's office. Harry announced their presence and the assistant showed them through a door.

"Harry," the Ambassador stood up as they entered the room, coming around the desk and holding out his hand in greeting. "Good to see you."

"Ambassador Forsythe." Harry shook the man's hand. "This is my analyst, Ruth Evershed."

Ruth noted that Harry omitted her marital status. She held out her hand to the Ambassador, finding his grip firm and welcoming.

"Pleasure to meet you," Forsythe gave Ruth a sincere smile.

She blinked, taken aback that he had recognised her existence, but supposed that came with the territory of being a diplomat.

"Please have a seat." Forsythe gestured to the chairs in front of his desk as he took up his position behind it. "You're looking well, Harry. How long has it been?"

"Quite a while. Nineteen-eighty, I believe. Tehran."

Ruth did a quick calculation in her head. What was she doing in nineteen-eighty? Listening to Bananarama, she would think.

"That's right," Forsythe agreed. 'You were on that fact-finding mission with Juliet Shaw."

The name hit Ruth like a bucket of cold water. Harry had been in the Middle East with Juliet. She quickly sifted through her mind trying to remember if she was already in possession of that knowledge. They would have been young, in their mid-twenties, in a foreign land on a dangerous mission. What sort of shenanigans had they been up to? She had successfully managed to subvert thoughts of Harry with unknown women in Ireland, but Juliet was different. She knew Juliet. The mental picture of them together invaded her mind. She frowned. Had he been married at that time? Had that been the start of his affair with Juliet? Her stomach roiled, a thought rising within her - had he brought her here to relive the heady excitement of the time he had spent with Juliet. Oh god, what was she doing, twisting herself up like this? It was years ago. She blinked bringing herself back to the conversation, the Ambassador's voice drifting into her consciousness.

"You're not here to exploit your diplomatic immunity again, are you?" His question though asked lightly held a certain amount of trepidation.

"No." Harry smiled. "The Foreign Office asked me to keep you abreast of our findings here. You can tell them what you will. I'll be making my own report to the Foreign Secretary."

Harry's tone was decidedly frosty, more to do with his feeling for the Foreign Secretary and the fallout from Havensworth than an aspersion against the Ambassador. At the remembrance of Havensworth, Ruth's mind wandered once again, filling with an insistent backbeat, an empty corridor, and a restless night tossing in bed. She closed her eyes. She really needed to get some sleep. The two men carried on unaware of her lapses in concentration.

"Understood." Forsythe gave Harry a slight nod, sensing the subtext of his comment.

A peculiar energy flowed between the two men. Ruth was well aware of Harry's disdain for politicians but Forsythe's frank demeanour had put Harry at ease. Or perhaps it was the Ambassador's innate sensitivity to secrets.

"Are you aware of Operation Bedouin?" Harry asked.

"Its broader mandate but not the finer points."

"I'm not sure if Baghdad station has shared anything with you."

"If you mean Ronnie Greene, then I would have to say as little as they could get away with. In fact, I'm not even certain that is his real name."

Ruth perked up at the Ambassador's summation of Greene.

"We have our suspicions regarding some of the details." Harry hedged his words showing his own diplomatic stripe. "I won't share the particulars until we have corroborated facts."

"Sometimes it's better to be in the dark about things." Forsythe smiled. "Known unknowns and all that."

Harry chuckled softly and then changed the subject. "Have you had any dealings with Amish Mani. Indian national."

"They're not part of the coalition forces, are they? Is he a contractor?"

"He's with the RAW. Wondering if you've heard any whispers of why India would have someone from research and analysis working with the Americans?"

Forsythe nodded thoughtfully. "I can't say that I have. But I can put some feelers out."

Harry nodded. "I've got another meeting here. I was wondering if you had a space available for Ruth to do some research. Security here would be far better than our room or the Palace."

Ruth studied the intricate design on the carpet, wondering if the Ambassador had caught the word "our" when Harry mentioned the hotel room.

"Yes, of course," Forsythe gave Ruth an accommodating look. "My assistant will show you a space."

Ruth couldn't help but smile gratefully at the man. She appreciated his reflective pauses and his courteous manner, traits that had been sorely lacking in her other recent interactions.

In the anteroom outside the Ambassador's office, Harry spoke to her. "I'll come and get you. Don't go wandering off. I just need to have a word with Waterhouse. If you discover anything, keep it to yourself."

She gave him an indignant look. Who else would she tell?

Ruth followed Forsythe's assistant along whitewashed hallways, through a courtyard and into an annexe. A fear rose in her that she would never be able to find her way back unescorted. Worried that she would be stowed away in the bowels of the building, she was pleasantly surprised to find that her assigned room had a window and a small balcony. Before leaving, the assistant explained how to reach the facilities and where to find food, but after sitting down at the little desk, Ruth had already made the decision that she never wanted to leave. She ran her hand over the intricate design on the top of the desk and absorbed the novelty of her workspace. The window was open and a slight breeze drifted in, disturbing a pair of long white curtains. The sky stared back at her, coloured a brilliant blue. What a luxury to have a window - how wonderful to see the outside world. Back on the Grid, days would go by without seeing the light of the sun. Was this what life was like in the Foreign Service? There had been a time at Oxford when she had entertained the idea of a diplomatic career, the lure of travel to a foreign country, a chance to use her languages and her knowledge of history. Perhaps fate was speaking to her now, opening her eyes to other avenues, coaxing her to take the step and leave Thames House.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she turned around, certain that Harry was standing behind her. There was no one. Still, she felt his presence, as if his hand were on the back of her chair and he was leaning over her shoulder. A strange weight pulled at her ribs, her lungs emptying of air. It was not a question of leaving Thames House - could she leave him? Her hand returned to the parquet pattern on the desk. Upon closer inspection, she realised it was a star. Separate pieces woven together joined in an intricate pattern creating a whole. There were so many places where she and Harry were joined. From the recesses of her memory came the thought of Danny, and she gave a small huff of pain. They had promised each other that they would never become broken, or bitter. Or alone. Quiet settled around her. She should relish this moment of solitude, the chance to be alone but it only made the absence of activity that more apparent. She missed the Grid, the people, the satisfaction of solving the puzzle. That was what she was meant to do. She took a deep breath, shook off her maudlin state, and opened up the laptop, ready to work.

Unaware of the passage of time, she jumped when the door opened. Harry entered, and she quickly glanced out the window to see that the sun had crossed to the other side of the sky.

"Any success?" Harry leaned back against her desk and crossed his arms.

"I did manage to find a rather interesting piece of information."

"Do tell."

The awkwardness of the morning was forgotten, or at least tucked out of sight behind the facade of business. She gave him a Cheshire cat grin, taking a moment to relish the fact that she held information and thus a tiny piece of power.

"The Americans are buying back their own chemical weapons."

"What?" Harry uncrossed his arms.

"Weapons the Americans gave Saddam to use against the Iranians. So they're quite old but still volatile."

"And we're helping them," Harry murmured reflectively.

Ruth tapped the keys and pulled up a spreadsheet. "Remember when I said that the CIA had schedules of food shipments. It just seemed odd so I peeled back the list of contractors - it's like a matryoshka doll, and I came across this company, Evertide. They were on the shipping manifest that Zaf asked me to look into."

"Have you found a connection?"

"I'm charting shipments and timetables, going through Jo's work on the bank accounts, seeing if anything stands out."

"See what you can put together." Harry stood up.

"I still haven't gleaned any information about Hassan, or the other scientist el-Kazi. And I'm still at a loss as to the identity of Shadow and Firecracker."

Harry glanced at his watch. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes, I think I might have forgotten to eat today."

"Good. The Ambassador has invited us for supper."

Harry straightened up and walked out of the room. The news came as a pleasant surprise; she might actually enjoy a dinner with the Ambassador. The moment of pleasure was short-lived though when she remembered the conversation around the pool the previous day. Wonderful, another evening where she would have to endure the company of men.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N – As promised an early update. Hope you enjoy it! Thank you again for reading._

 _._

Chapter 7

The car wove along the quiet streets and wide boulevards, driving past the former residences of the Iraqi elite; stately houses now commandeered for the use of foreign diplomats and outside contractors. The setting sun filtered through the palm trees, adding to the sense of serenity, creating another oasis inside the Zone. The car slowed down as they reached their destination; a gate opened and they drove through the entrance. The ambassador's villa came into view.

"I don't think I'm dressed for this," Ruth whispered, fingering the fabric of her wilted skirt.

"Don't worry, you look fine."

In the dim interior of the car, Harry smiled at her, and she couldn't help but smile in return. His voice had held a tinge of familiarity, the softest he had spoken to her since they had arrived in Baghdad.

As they walked up the path to the front door, Ruth steeled herself for the inevitable barrage of male-centred ribaldry that would welcome her, cringing in remembrance of the conversation around the pool the day before. Harry placed his hand on the small of her back, a gesture from the not too distant past when he had stolen any opportunity to touch her. How she missed those little transgressions, the soft blurring of the line between professional and the personal. Perhaps he had noticed her reaction to the ambassador earlier that day and felt compelled to access his supply of gallantry. Whatever the reason, it was best not to read too much into it. A young Iraqi man opened the door, and further down the hall, Forsythe walked towards them.

"Good evening," he greeted them warmly. He turned to the young man. "Thank you, Kamal. Let us know when dinner is ready."

Forsythe ushered them into an elegant room and bade them to have a seat. Ruth sank into a well-padded chair, the plush fabric welcoming against her tired bones, perhaps the most comfortable seat she had come across in her journey thus far. Ice cubes clinked into a tumbler as Forsythe stood at a credenza, tongs in one hand.

"Can I offer you a drink, Harry?"

"I wouldn't say no to a scotch," Harry replied.

"How about you, Ruth? You look like a gin and tonic woman."

Flustered by his estimation of her drinking habits, she agreed, though she couldn't remember a time when she had ever had a gin and tonic.

"As a rule, I like to abide by the customs of whatever country I'm in," Forsythe explained as he made the drinks. "But we have a bit of alcohol here, sovereign territory and all that."

He handed Ruth her drink and seated himself in the chair next to her. Ruth's eyes flitted about the room. Oversized pillows lay scattered on the deep red rug, latticework screens covered the windows, the walls were overlaid in wood and copper, carved into intricate geometric designs.

"Lovely place isn't it?" the Ambassador prompted. "Bit too much for my taste, but they've put me here for now." Forsythe sipped his drink as he kept his attention on Ruth. "There's still a lot of work to be done on the embassy. Apparently, the same man has been guarding it since the sanctions began. Found a picture of the Queen still hanging on the wall. Much younger, of course." He gave Ruth a knowing little smile.

"Are you expecting anyone else tonight?" Harry asked.

"Just us, I'm afraid," Forsythe replied. "Thought it would give us a chance to talk." He dipped his head at Harry. "Save me from getting any surprises later on in your visit."

At the news, Ruth sunk deeper into her chair, sipping on her drink, the tart taste of juniper hitting her tongue. Though there was a Turkish hint to the decor, the atmosphere reminded her of home. Perhaps it was merely the refined manner and clipped speech of the Ambassador. She half expected to hear a Victrola playing Elgar in the background and the conversation to ruminate on the decline of the empire, for she felt vaguely colonial. For the first time that trip, she gave her muscles permission to relax.

"Is your family here with you?" she asked.

"No, they won't be out until after things have settled down. But my wife is used to this sort of life. How about you, Ruth? How long have you been married?"

"It's actually quite recent." A smile tugged at her lips, and she could feel Harry's eyes on her. Her cheeks warmed - an offshoot of the alcohol, she told herself.

"It's hard on partners when one is traipsing about the world. I was born out here, lived most of my life in the Middle East."

"You've made quite a mark," Ruth commented, having taking time earlier that afternoon to research the man. "Some say you're an Arabist."

"If that means that I believe the people here should be their own governors, then I'm guilty as charged."

"Ruth has an interest in T E Lawrence," Harry dropped the morsel of information into the conversation as he lounged in his chair.

Ruth shot Harry a look of reproach, instantly suspicious of his motives for revealing that fact, wary that he might be setting her up for some sort of game of diplomatic dominoes.

"Ah, yes." Forsythe tilted his head and looked at her keenly. "What drew you to him?"

"He's a bit of an enigma. His willingness to embed himself in a culture; see the other side. His sense of adventure, poetry."

"Yes, he was a conundrum. Warrior, diplomat, romantic." Forsythe's drew an arc in the air with his hand."I will write my will across the stars."

A discreet cough came from the doorway. Kamal stood in the entrance signalling that it was time for dinner. Forsythe took Ruth by the arm as he escorted them into the dining room. A table polished to a glossy sheen dominated the room, and Forsythe informed them that it had belonged to Gertrude Bell. Ruth took her seat with the appropriate reverence, relishing the historical import of the piece of furniture and the woman who, for better or worse, had set the boundaries for modern day Iraq. The food was decidedly better than the fare at the hotel, and a bottle of wine was uncorked, Ruth's glass well attended. Over the course of the meal, the Ambassador paid her an interest that she had not received in quite some time. They spoke of the fractious history of the Middle East, on more than one occasion falling into different dialects, Ruth revelling in the cultured company. For the most part, Harry remained quiet, enjoying the meal, seemingly content to let his analyst show off her intellectual prowess. After dinner, they moved out onto a small patio. The night air remained incredibly warm, the heat wrapping around her skin like a caress. A breeze barely whispered as they relaxed in wicker chairs. The voices of Forsythe and Harry floated over her as they discussed the mission. Light filtered through the lattice screens, casting a crisscross pattern across the stone. Ruth studied the shapes, letting her glass of digestif hang languidly in her hand.

"Another brandy, Ruth?

Roused by the Ambassador's voice, Ruth sat up in her chair and covered the top of her glass. "No thank you. I think I've had quite enough."

By no account had she kept up with the other two men who both seemed unaffected by the amount of alcohol they had consumed.

"Probably for the best," Forsythe agreed. "It can become a bit of a coping mechanism for people out here."

"It can be a coping mechanism for people anywhere," Harry commented, as he swirled the brandy in his glass.

The fleeting thought crossed Ruth's mind that she was the one who had driven him to drink. No, he was wholly formed before she had come on the scene. The Ambassador carried on his conversation with Harry.

"They say if two fish are fighting in the Tigris, the British are behind it," said Forsythe.

"It could well be said of the Americans now."

"We're in a quagmire here, Harry, though no one will admit it."

"The people in England have been led in Mesopotamia into a trap," Harry quoted, "From which it will be hard to escape with dignity and honour."

Ruth's eyes widened, her voice was coloured with accusation. "You _have_ read Lawrence."

"I'm not completely untutored," Harry countered with mock offence.

Biting her tongue, she refrained from calling him out on his earlier comment about Lawrence being nothing more than a writer of fiction. She tilted her head, looking at him with new eyes. What other secrets lay hidden from her?

"I'm afraid his words ring true today." Forsythe sighed. "In our eagerness to rush in, we failed to prepare our exit strategy."

"It's always unwise to start something without thinking how it will play out."

Though his words were spoken to the Ambassador, Harry looked directly at Ruth. Their meaning was not lost on her, for that was exactly what she had done. She looked at the Ambassador but spoke to Harry.

"There might be a solution given time."

"Such as?" Harry asked.

"If the parties in question were to be left alone to resolve the problem. Remove outside influences."

"Have you ever thought of a life in the diplomatic service, Ruth?" Forsythe asked.

"Oh, I…" She fiddled with the rim of her glass in hopes of deferring the question, surprised that it had come on the heels of the thoughts she had been entertaining that morning.

"Ruth has developed quite a rapport with the Americans." There was a caustic edge around the rim of Harry's bland observation.

Ruth's foot swung in agitation, suspecting that Harry was referring to her cosy interactions with Todd the previous day. "More flies with honey," she replied enigmatically, looking at Harry over the rim of her glass.

"The heart of diplomacy," Forsythe agreed, "You know Ruth, with your languages and political knowledge, I'm sure a number of options would be open to you."

"That's very generous…"

Forsythe shifted in his seat. "I might steal her away from you, Harry."

"You can't have her." Summoned from an unknown depth, the words resonated in his chest. "She's mine."

Somewhat perturbed by the possessive nature of his comment, Ruth frowned at Harry. Eyes dark, smouldering with heat, he met her look, daring her to refute his claim. Her lips parted to speak, but the air instantly vanished from her lungs. Caught in his gaze, she froze, breath ceasing, her heart tumbling over itself, beating wildly against her ribs, fluttering like a trapped bird looking for release. Look away, someone will see. Lids half-closed, heavy with intent, Harry lounged in his chair, his almost imperceptible smile telegraphing that he fully remembered the picture she had presented that morning. As her lungs struggled for breath, her chest strained against the fabric of her blouse. His gaze burned through her clothes, grazing the flesh that he had glimpsed, holding in his mind's eye the fullness of her lace-covered breasts. Overwhelmed, heat suffusing her skin, she dropped her eyes and struggled to regain her equilibrium. Having fallen from a great height, she now lay on the ground, breathless. She took a slow drink of her brandy, terrified by the reaction that Harry's look had aroused in her. The more mammalian part of her brain greedily stored it away, ready to be unwrapped and relived on some cold and lonely night. She placed her drink on the table. Harry followed with his glass.

"Are you ready to leave?" His question was perfunctory, giving no indication that anything had passed between them. He switched tracks with the ease of a pointsman.

Without looking at him, she nodded.

They bade goodnight to the Ambassador and headed out to the waiting car. This time, Harry opened the door for her. Still not meeting his eyes, she murmured a quiet thank you. As they drove through the silent street, every fibre of Ruth's being tingled with the awareness of the man sitting beside her. They were going back to their hotel room. If he were to make a move, would she have the strength to resist?

Alcohol – the great conqueror of barriers and eraser of lines.

She cracked open her window ushering in a warm breeze.

"You seemed to have gotten on well with the Ambassador," Harry commented.

"He's very charming."

"He's married."

"So am I." Ruth held up her hand and waved her ring finger.

"You were fawning all over him."

"What?" The air in the car shifted, his accusation dampening the glow of her inebriated state. "That's ridiculous. We were just having an intelligent conversation."

"I've never heard you mention that you wanted to join the Foreign Service before tonight."

Her mouth opened, words of protest sitting on the tip of her tongue, the rebuttal that she had thought about it that morning but had decided she could never leave Five. But she didn't tell him.

"I would think there's a lot about me you don't know," she responded tartly.

"And I would think you could dial back the 'playing nice' aspect of this mission."

Her back rose with indignation. "And what exactly are you accusing me of?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. It's merely an observation. That our mission here would be better served if you focused on being an analyst."

Her mouth formed a circle of disbelief. She had just spent the entire day cloistered in a room analysing CIA data. She closed her mouth and crossed her arms.

"Fine. I will."

"Good."

"Good," she echoed.

She sat back in her seat and stared out the window. Stupid man. If only he had known how close she had been to erasing the line. The evening had turned on a dime. She could never have a relationship with this man.

The frost of the car followed them into their hotel room, and they retired to the opposite sides of the bed without any further words.

.

It was the silence that woke her. Having grown accustomed to the soothing sounds of the air conditioner, her mind was instantly on alert when the humming stopped. Opening her eyes, she tentatively reached a hand behind her, searching for Harry, but found the other side of the mattress empty. The reasons for his absence raced through her mind and a swell of panic rose within her. There was a movement by the window, and she sat bolt upright, her hand fumbling for the light.

"There's no electricity." Harry's voice floated to her through the darkness.

A breath of relief escaped her, and she sat for a moment, collecting herself, looking at Harry's silhouette, wondering whether she should stay in bed or get up. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she crossed to the window. Harry was holding back a portion of the curtain, his attention focused on the city below.

"It seems to be out everywhere."

She craned her neck to look through the crack in the curtains. "God, it's hot in here. Can we open the window?"

Harry pulled back the curtain, and the window groaned in its tracks as he slid the glass across the casement. The relative height of their floor afforded them a breeze. Harry leaned against the wall, and Ruth shifted to look out the window, careful to keep her distance from him, the residual tension from their spat in the car still lingering in the air. The silver crescent of the moon hung low in the sky; the same moon that had shone over any number of ancient civilizations on that fertile plain.

"I wish they hadn't called it Operation Bedouin," she whispered, the darkness tempering her voice. "Feels like an insult, or appropriation, I can't quite put my finger on it."

"You're not channelling Lawrence again are you?"

"I wonder what it was like when he was here?" she asked wistfully. She quickly straightened up. "I'm not romanticising things." There was no response from Harry. "And I am not being naive."

"I didn't say you were."

"I could hear you thinking it."

The back of her neck pricked with heat, and she gathered her hair up into a bun, leaning her elbow against the window frame for support.

"Would you rather the operation correspond with the American's aptly named Avarice?" Harry asked. "Perhaps sloth? Or gluttony?"

Ruth gave a slight smile. "How about pride? Or envy?" Her love for lists asserted itself and she tried to remember the other deadly sins. "Wrath, that's one." She counted them off on the fingers of her free hand. "Which one are we missing?"

There was a slight twitch in Harry's jaw, but his body remained perfectly still. "Lust."

Silence, like a veil, descended on them, shrouding them from the outside world. Suspended, neither of them dared to acknowledge the meaning of the word, yet allowing themselves to revel in its illicit implications. The room groaned with a weighted heat, thick and overripe with the scent of opportunity. A sliver of the moon glittered in Harry's eyes as his gaze ran over her, and she became intensely aware that she had only donned her nightshirt, while he was in a T-shirt and what looked to be boxer shorts. A strand of hair slipped loose from her grasp and swung across her neck, dangling before him like forbidden fruit. His chest moved, caught in the eternal struggle against temptation. Proving too hard to resist, he leaned over, his face dark in the shadows and raised his hand. Curling the errant tendril around his fingers, he studied it, his thumb rubbing along the silken strand. She closed her eyes, head tilting, her cheek brushing against his knuckle. He slipped the strand behind her ear, his finger lingering on the soft spot beneath her lobe, and then moving down to trace the underside of her jaw. She swayed toward him.

"Why are we here, Harry?" she whispered.

He leaned into her. "For the secrets."

A piercing whistle ripped through the air followed by an eardrum-splitting boom.

"Shit," yelled Harry.

His arm shot out and he pulled Ruth back from the window. She covered her ears while he dragged her down onto the floor. Another boom echoed, followed by the rata-tat-tat of machine gun fire. They lay on the floor facing each other, panting, hearts racing.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Clutching his shirt, she nodded, her voice lodged in her throat, her heart pounding in her ears. Outside a siren sounded in warning, followed by a garbled voice over a loudspeaker.

"What's happening?" Ruth asked hoarsely.

"I'll go find out," Harry said.

"No." Her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his shirt. "I mean…" Swallowing, she released his shirt, her hand pressing lightly against his chest. "Don't leave me alone."

"I won't."

He pulled her in closer, her breasts pressing against his chest, the beat of his heart thudding against hers, though not quite as insistent as her own. The embrace lengthened, nudging up against the boundary between comfort and something more. Long enough for the friction between them to electrify the skin beneath her shirt, her nipples growing taut with anticipation. Long enough for her to close her eyes and wonder what it would be like to overcome the terror of the moment and give way to an equally primal urge. The scent of him invaded her nostrils, holding her hostage and she moved her head to breathe, her mouth brushing against the skin of his throat. His lips moved against her forehead, his fingers flexing on the curve of her side. An eerie silence lay around them, watching them. Who else was watching? Harry sighed into her hair.

"It sounds like things have stopped." He edged away from her. "I'm just going to go downstairs for a minute and find out what's happening."

Her body protested, wanting him to stay for purely selfish reasons, searching for a way to articulate the latent cravings of her flesh. In the end, logic reigned, cautioning her not to give into an urge that she might later regret, and so she remained silent.

Harry rose from the floor and searched about in the dark for his trousers. She remained on the carpet, breathless, knees weak, feeling for all the world like they had just completed a carnal act but without the resulting satisfaction. Keys and a belt jangled as he pulled up his trousers followed by the rustling of his shirt. He could be any man leaving after an act of intimacy.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he promised.

He returned to her and held out his hand. Taking advantage of his offer, she stood but did not let go of his hand.

"Do you have your phone?" How mundane the question sounded.

"Yes."

His fingers rubbed against hers, and a look of silent acknowledgement passed between them. Lust, having once been summoned, would not completely desert them; it had only slunk back into the shadows, laying in wait. She wavered, wondering if she should kiss him goodbye, as if she were sending him off to work, or into something much worse. It seemed a natural gesture after the embrace they had just shared, but somehow the moment slipped away, and she suppressed it. He left quietly, slipping out the door. She stood in the middle of the room, overcome with uncertainty. Should she get dressed? Would they have to evacuate? Her knees trembled and she sat down on the bed, the full force of the past few minutes sinking in. Equal parts exhausted and strung elastic tight, she flopped back onto the bed. She would close her eyes but only for a moment, while she waited for Harry to return.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Sunlight streamed through a slit in the curtains, the beam falling across the pillow and into Ruth's half-opened eyes. How strange it was to be in a place with so much sun. A low hum emanated from the air conditioner, telling her that while she had slept the power had returned, but other than that, the room was unnaturally quiet. There was no running water, no swish of a toothbrush, no whistling. What time was it? She sat up, her head spinning from the sudden movement and the residual effects of alcohol. There was no sign of Harry. The window was closed; a hint that he had at least returned at some point in the night. But where was he now? She must have overslept. The display on her mobile told her it was only eight in the morning. Gingerly, she stood up and tested her legs. A white piece of paper lay on the table, and she crossed to it. Meet me in the lobby at one o'clock. There was no signature but she would recognise the looping scrawl of her boss anywhere. Her thumb flicked at the corner of the note; he was avoiding her. They would have to see each other at some point. Daylight in all its brilliance would banish any remaining shadows, allowing them to conveniently gloss over last night's brush with one of the deadly sins, and return to their more cerebral selves. Inevitably, night would descend once again, bringing with it the cloak of darkness and everything that lay shrouded beneath it. One more night. They only had to make it through one more night. Taking a deep breath, she dismissed corporeal thoughts from her head and focused on pursuing her own mission.

While she washed her face and dressed, Ruth considered how she could best use the few hours allotted to her before she needed to meet Harry. Her first goal was to track down the man from the Nuclear Proliferation Committee and find out if he knew anything about Nazir Hassan. Her ego still nursed a bruise from her lack of success on that front. In light of everything else that she had discovered during her time in Baghdad, there must be more to the story behind that scientist. Grabbing her laptop, she made her way downstairs. After hurriedly gulping down a cup of weak tea and stale toast, she stood in the lobby, wondering how she could find transportation to the palace.

"Where are you headed?"

The smiling face of Liz Denning appeared from behind a newspaper. Seated in one of the lobby chairs, she had no doubt been lying in wait until Ruth appeared by herself. As the reporter rose from her seat, Ruth greeted her with a half-hearted smile, calculating how she could possibly use the meeting to her advantage.

"I'm trying to get to the palace."

"Well, Cinderella, there's no magic pumpkin but there is a shuttle bus that runs around the Zone every twenty minutes or so."

"Thank you." Ruth moved to walk away, but the other woman fell into step beside her.

"So why are you really here, Ruth?"

Ruth baulked at the use of her name, wondering how the reporter had come to know it, smarting at its casual use, intimating a connection between them that didn't exist.

"Can I catch the bus outside the hotel?" Ruth asked evasively.

"You're not a contractor." Denning inched in front of Ruth, halting their progress. "You've got spy written all over you."

Taking a step back, Ruth attempted to hide her irritation at having been made, slightly elated that she gave off the aura of a spy.

"If you'll excuse me."

"Whatever you're looking for, you're not going to find it in the Emerald City."

Ruth looked at the woman, confused by her second fairytale allusion. "Emerald City?"

"The bubble that they've got us in here. If you want to find out what's really going on, you have to go outside."

"And what is it that I'm trying to find out?"

"The same thing that we're all looking for." Denning tilted her head. "The reason why we're here."

Ruth blinked, mildly surprised that the woman had not given her the same answer as everyone else – secrets. For a brief moment, her mind clouded with an existential haze. Why was she there? Because Harry had given her no choice - they were tracking down information, it was her job. Was she there for some other reason? Did she live in a bubble? She shook her head; she was working on a deadline, she didn't have time for some sort of philosophical quest, she needed to find out information about Nazir Hassan. There must be some way to use Denning.

"If I told you why I was here what would you give me in return?"

"At this particular moment, all I have is this." Denning extracted a scarf from her bag.

"Women don't need to wear a hijab here."

"You don't get out much, do you?" Denning placed the scarf in Ruth's hand. "It might help you to disappear."

Ruth took the scarf, though the last thing she wanted was to remain invisible. It was a jewel blue chiffon, and Ruth rubbed her fingers over the material as she examined it. As a single layer, it was almost transparent, but when she folded it over it became opaque.

Denning leant in with a conspiratorial nod. "I can also give you access to sixty million readers if you ever need to bypass official channels." Backing away, she gave a wave of her hand. "We should have a drink sometime."

The reporter disappeared into the throng of the lobby and Ruth was left alone. Shrugging her shoulders, Ruth stuffed the scarf into her laptop bag, donned her sunglasses, and exited the hotel.

As if by magic, a shuttle bus appeared and she boarded the vehicle, ready to be ferried about the Green Zone. Within minutes, she arrived at the palace and after a few inquiries, located the whereabouts of Wilson's office. True to what Todd had told her, it was a fair hike across the compound, away from the bustle and prying eyes of the CPA. It was located in a squat little building, and she knocked on the door, a gruff voice telling her to enter.

Every surface of the office towered with piles of folders and books. Behind a desk sat a thickset man, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly askew. He looked up, peering at her over the top of his glasses. He took them off to get a better look at her.

"Are you lost?"

"I don't think so. I'm looking for a man named Wilson."

"Greg Wilson; that's me." He stood up from the desk.

"I'm Ruth Evershed." She walked toward him and held out her hand.

"Did they send you to help me?" He shook her hand and motioned for her to take a seat.

"Not exactly. I'm trying to locate a scientist."

"Are you with the British government?"

"The Foreign Office," Ruth hedged slightly.

"You know, a number of scientists here have already been mistreated by the CIA, I'm not about to hand them over to the British. I'm trying to create a refuge for them."

"I understand. I'm just looking for a bit of information on a gentleman named Nizaar Hassan."

Wilson sat back in his chair and studied her. "Doesn't ring a bell. Is he still in the country?"

"I'm not sure. I was wondering if you had some sort of database."

"I've got a few lists here." He tapped the folders in front of him. "But the most comprehensive records are at the Science Ministry."

"Where is that?"

"Near the university. I'm heading there this morning if you want to join me."

"Outside the Green Zone?" Ruth asked, taken aback by his offer.

"Yes."

"I was told I shouldn't go out without an armed escort."

"I go out there all the time. It's not as bad as they make it out to be. Most people are just trying to live ordinary lives. Or as ordinary as you can get without dependable water and electricity."

Wilson's proposal had set off an internal debate. Harry had warned her not to leave the zone, but the ministry might have the records that she needed. Finding Hassan could be the thread that would unravel whatever scheme McCaul and Ronnie were hatching. Go with Wilson, get back quickly; Harry would be none the wiser. Sensing Ruth's reticence, Wilson opened a drawer.

"Don't worry, I've got this." He pulled out a revolver. "Though it's more for protection from the CIA that the Iraqis."

"Why would you need protection from the CIA?"

"They don't understand what I'm doing. They think I'm aiding the enemy. But I'm keeping tabs on these scientists, paying them what they're worth, making sure they don't sell their knowledge to a hostile foreign power."

"That makes sense." Ruth nodded in agreement.

After meeting so many duplicitous men, it was a relief to deal with Wilson's sincerity and apparent lack of hidden agenda. Although slightly harassed, he seemed to have a healthy suspicion of the CIA, which also worked in his favour. Ruth begrudgingly admitted that Denning was right; she would never discover anything unless she left the bubble.

"I need to be back by noon," she cautioned.

"No problem."

Wilson grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. He scooped up two bottles of water and handed one off to her. "Always a good idea to carry this around too," he advised and gestured for her to precede him out the door.

Parked behind the building, Wilson's small battered sedan was a stark contrast to the colossal SUVs that had previously chauffeured Ruth. There was a large dent in the passenger side door. Wilson gave her a lopsided grin.

"Helps me fit in." He opened the door for her. "You might want to put something on your head if you have anything. It's not strictly necessary but anything that helps us fly below the radar is good."

Ruth took her seat in the car and pulled out the scarf that Denning had given her, musing how strangely fortuitous it had been. For a moment, she saw a grand conspiracy happening, that she was some sort of pawn in a game of fate, but she quickly dismissed the notion. The car rolled slowly through the quiet streets of the Green Zone, Wilson informing Ruth that the military police loved to give out speeding tickets. When they reached the exit checkpoint, a soldier, recognising Wilson, waved them through. It was much easier to leave than to enter. They travelled no more than a block outside the gates when the real Baghdad unfurled before her. Traffic slowed to a crawl, while vehicles attempted to merge at seemingly random points causing congestion and a cacophony of honking horns.

"Traffic is a nightmare here. The sanctions are over, gas is cheap, everyone has a car." Wilson gave a sharp blast of his horn as a truck cut them off.

The sidewalks teemed with people, stalls selling produce, American goods, clothes and any other wares not available since before the sanctions. Ruth's head swivelled back and forth, marvelling at the teaming city. Against the azure sky, tall buildings still bore the scars of missile attacks, banners flying from balconies, graffiti on walls. After a while, they came to a bridge and Ruth craned her neck to look over the side rails. Below her wove the undulating path of the Tigris. The fabled river looked quite ordinary in the morning sun, unaware of its history or the war that had waged around it. On the other side of the bridge, a street sign came into view.

"Abu Nuwas," Ruth translated in an awed whisper.

"There's a park named after him too," said Wilson. "Who was he?"

"A Persian poet. His tomb is in the city."

The car slowed down and Wilson made a turn, manoeuvring the vehicle onto a side road that led down towards the river.

"Is this safe?" Ruth asked, fingers involuntarily tightening around the strap of her laptop bag.

"Just for a minute."

Wilson stopped the car near a clearing. Ruth exited the car, her feet crunching over the burnt grass, ragged and unkempt. A forlorn set of swings creaked in the breeze as children scrambled over a broken climber. Debris littered the bank of the river; rusted barrels, rotting wood and broken signs, neglected and waiting to be restored to its former beauty. Ruth looked out over the water. On the opposite side, the gleaming dome of the Palace reflected the morning sun.

"It's a mess here. And it's only going to get messier." Wilson sighed. "It's probably good that you got a chance to see it."

"Yes," Ruth agreed. "Thank you for showing me."

The water lapped against the river's edge and the untroubled laughter of children echoed in the park. A strange feeling of loneliness enveloped Ruth and she found herself wishing that she had someone with whom to share the experience. Her fingers flexed as she imagined her hand in Harry's, sharing her discovery of the park named after a poet and the tiny square of peace that was sheltered there. To walk with him as a tourist, if only for a moment. It might be the only part of the country outside the zone that she would ever see. But she wasn't there for sightseeing.

Returning to the car, they drove a few more blocks and pulled up to a gate patrolled by Iraqi guards. Wilson stopped the car and rolled down the window. He spoke to one man as another moved around the car with a mirror on a long pole. Wilson noticed that Ruth was observing the process.

"Scanning for bombs," he informed her.

"I gathered as much."

The building housing the Ministry of Science looked as though it had received a more substantial restoration than the buildings that surrounded it. The air-conditioned interior was a welcome relief, and Ruth followed Wilson down a long hall, a sense of venerated calm permeating the atmosphere. They reached an office and a woman greeted them from behind a desk. She had the air of quiet efficiency that every person who was the bedrock of an organisation exuded. Wilson introduced as the woman as Zeda, and Ruth took an instant liking to her. Unfortunately, there was no time for pleasantries, so Ruth quickly got down to business.

"I'm trying to track down a scientist - Nizaar Hassan."

"We can check our files. Was he with a ministry? Did he have a posting?"

"He attended the university, that's all that I know."

"Do you know what his discipline is?"

"Physics." Ruth licked her lips.

The woman tapped efficiently on her keyboard and scanned the screen. "He is not coming up anywhere. We don't necessarily have everyone." She looked up and spotted a man passing by the door, and hailed him. "Abdul, come here." The man turned back and walked into the office, and Zeda introduced him. "This is Dr Abdul el-Kazi, he is also a physicist."

Ruth stared at the man in disbelief. "You're el-Kazi?"

The man drew his head back, puzzled. "Yes, I am."

The gears of Ruth's mind spun into overdrive. He looked like any other Iraqi man, dark hair, the obligatory moustache, wearing a suit jacket, yet ostensibly, he had reportedly given the CIA information about uranium enrichment. She wasn't sure how to proceed. In her wildest dreams, she would never have expected to run into him. The CIA had probably never anticipated that she would meet him either; she was not supposed to leave the Zone. All the lurking doubts she had held about the CIA Intel resurfaced. She did her best glossed over her initial surprise.

"I'm looking for Nizaar Hassan."

"Why?" el-Kazi looked at Ruth suspiciously.

"His name has come up in regards to possible nuclear weapons."

It was a gamble; laying all her cards on the table, but she wanted to see his reaction. The man sighed wearily and drew a hand across his brow.

"We have told you many times there are no such weapons."

Ruth scanned the man's face, searching for signs of deception, but his demeanour was without guile. Something wasn't adding up.

"Who did you tell?"

"The CIA. They ask me if I could create a nuclear weapon. I say maybe, with the right tools. But we do not have the facilities. We do not have the resources. I can't make something out of nothing."

There it was; the CIA had used a straw man's argument, taking el-Kazi's words and twisting them around to fit their own design.

"Any detail you might know about Hassan would be most helpful," she pressed.

"He's dead."

Sideswiped for the second time that day, Ruth's mouth dropped open, unsure of how to process the new information. It was the last thing she had expected.

"He was killed in one of the first strikes," el-Kazi continued. "Collateral damage, I think you call it."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"I was there. I washed him. I buried him."

"I'm so sorry."

"I tell them there is no uranium here. They try their tactics but I cannot reveal what is not there."

Her brow knit in tangled thought, Ruth attempted to sort out the implications of what she had discovered, but she could not do it alone. She had to find Harry.

"Thank you for talking to me," she said to el-Kazi, and then turned to Wilson. "I have to get back."

"Are you alright?" Wilson asked as they exited the building and walked back to the car.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?"

"Why would he lie?" Wilson put a hand on Ruth's arm. "The thing is these people have the knowledge to create weapons but they never had the resources. You need weapons-grade uranium for any nuclear device."

"Not for a dirty bomb."

He shook his head at her assertion. "I don't think he's lying."

The route back to the zone, choked with congestion, was a test in patience. Wilson took it in stride, but Ruth became more anxious as the minutes on her mobile ticked by. After an inexorable wait at a checkpoint, they made it through the gate and finally arrived at the entrance of the hotel. Ruth thanked Wilson profusely for all his help and promised to update him on any relevant findings. She jumped out of the car and ran into the hotel. The lobby was packed and she almost missed Harry; he was unrecognisable in Khakis and a sand coloured field jacket. Threading through the crowd, she ran up to him but stopped short when she saw the thunderous look on his face. He grabbed her by the arm.

"Where the hell have you been?" he seethed through gritted teeth.

"I went to the Ministry of Science," she informed him as she tried to catch her breath.

His grip tightened on her arm as he brought his face alarmingly close to hers. "You went outside the Green Zone?"

"I had an escort." She winced at his grip, and he relaxed his hold but did not release her. "Harry, listen, Hassan is dead."

"What?"

"He died at the beginning of the war."

"Are you telling me that the CIA has been asking us to chase a dead man?"

"Not only that, but el-Kazi never gave them information about uranium enrichment."

"How do you know?"

"I met him."

The noise of the lobby swirled about them as Harry stared at her with astonishment. A buzz emitted from his phone, and he released her arm in order to extract it from his pocket.

"We have to go. We need to catch the chopper to Kirkuk."

"We can't go now. Not after what I've just learned. We have to talk about what's happened."

Her words of protest went unheeded as Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her through the lobby. Jogging to keep up with him, she exited the hotel and climbed into the car, unable to quell her overwhelming sense of unease. They had new information; they needed to discuss it before they left the city, but Harry remained silent as they headed towards the palace. Their car screeched to a halt as they entered the area where the helipad was located. Hot, noisy, it was a chaotic scene of military personnel and fuel supply trucks. Harry trouped with her across the blazing asphalt toward a waiting helicopter. McCaul stepped forward to meet them.

"She doesn't need to be here," McCaul yelled over the sound of the trucks.

"She stays with me," Harry yelled back emphatically.

A soldier handed Ruth a helmet and a flak jacket, and she stood staring down at them as if they were artefacts from another world.

"Here," Harry barked at her.

He grabbed the helmet from her hands and plunked it on her head. In a similarly gruff manner, he took the jacket and held it open. He pulled it closed over her tiny form, his lips pursing as he tried to subvert a smile.

"Don't worry. Nothing will happen. They need us."

She looked up at him and shook her head, her look telegraphing a warning. Wrapping his fingers around the lapels of the jacket, he pulled her in close and bent down, his lips brushing her ear.

"I'll look after you."

Her fingers brushed the rough material at the bottom of his jacket searching for a lifeline. She wanted to believe him.

Harry turned and walked away, leaving Ruth no choice but to follow him. A soldier shouted directions at her, and she hoisted herself up into the helicopter and took the indicated seat. The soldier unceremoniously tightened her seat belt and rapped his knuckles on her helmet signalling that she was secure. The engine thrummed to life, and the blades rotated with a deafening roar. Perspiration gathered between her shoulder blades, exacerbated by the weight of the jacket, panic churning in her stomach. They had no plan. Wasn't that what Harry had said the previous night; don't go in without an exit strategy. They were being flown to an undisclosed site halfway across the country, under the auspices of a foreign intelligence service, who, it turns out, had been lying to them every step of the way. She wanted to trust that Harry knew what he was doing, that he could call upon his years of field experience and deal with any incident that might arise, but she suspected that he was in the dark as much as she. Closing her eyes, she clutched at her laptop, holding it tight to her body, information her only defence. The helicopter lifted off, leaving the ground behind. The bubble disappeared, and her little desk at Thames House had never felt so far away.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N - I'm not sure what happened; time seemed to have gotten away from me. Sorry for the delay, I'm back in the swing of things now. Thank you again for reading!_

Chapter 9

The vibrations from the helicopter rippled through Ruth's body, the deafening whirr of the blades only slightly dampened by the doors. The aircraft lurched, and she instinctively grabbed onto the straps that held her in place, shutting her eyes with a silent prayer. Aware that she could not keep her eyes closed for the entire journey, she slowly opened one and assessed the situation. A soldier sat across from her, his face hidden beneath his helmet, eyes obscured by dark glasses. Unfazed by the entire experience, he laconically chewed on a piece of gum, absently tapping his fingers on a rifle that lay across his lap. Ruth rummaged in her laptop bag for her own glasses and donned them with shaking fingers, hoping to hide her anxiety behind the tinted shades. The soldier flashed Ruth a brief smile, and she hesitantly returned it. In the seating arrangements, she found herself in the back with the two servicemen, Harry having taken the seat beside Ronnie, while McCaul sat up front with the pilot. Not meriting a headset, she could only observe as the men spoke to each other over their devices, burning with curiosity to know what they were saying. She gave up trying to read their lips and gazed out the window. The lush lawns and immaculate houses of the Green Zone had changed to sun-bleached buildings and tattered grass. Swathes of palm trees stood impervious beside the crumbling shells of empty buildings. Life teemed beneath her, carrying on with a will of its own. Heading north, their route followed the pale green line of the Tigris and then veered off over flat brown land, dry with dust and scraggly brush. A convoy of military vehicles snaked along beneath them, civilian cars queued up at roadblocks, traffic moving at an imperceptible crawl. The helicopter flew over the land as if flying in slow motion, suspended by a string, moving through time at a different speed. Just as Ruth became accustomed to the sensation, the outline of a city rose in the distance.

"Kirkuk," the soldier shouted at her as he pointed down.

Ruth smiled her thanks at the information. The helicopter banked away from the city proper and headed further north towards a compound of prefabricated buildings and trailers.

"What is this place?" she shouted at the soldier.

"DB Delta."

Ruth nodded. Was this the camp mentioned in the stolen Intel from Six? The one the CIA had codenamed Providence? Forgetting that she was wearing a seat belt, Ruth leaned forward to get Harry's attention but was instantly snapped back by the strap. Her fingers picked at the harness with annoyance. She needed to talk to Harry.

The helicopter hovered above a row of trailers, and then slowly descended, the surrounding sand rising with indignation, seeping into the cabin. Before the blades had finished their rotations, the two soldiers opened the door and jumped out, followed by the simultaneous clicking of the men's seatbelts as they unbuckled their straps and left the cabin. The engine slowly wound down, and Ruth was left to struggle with her seatbelt as she tried to balance her laptop. Stupid thing, she muttered under her breath. Harry's back was to her and he started to walk off with the other men, adding to her frustration. A soldier returned and with deft efficiency made quick work of her straps. He took her laptop and gave her his hand as he helped her to climb down onto solid ground. This time her smile of thanks was much wider.

"Is it all right if I take this stuff off?" Ruth asked, already removing her helmet.

"I can take it for you, ma'am."

She removed her sunglasses and squinted at the young man. "I recognize you from somewhere."

"I was running the checkpoint at the palace when you came through."

"That's right." She handed him her flak jacket. "I'm Ruth."

"Private Jensen," he nodded.

"I'm glad that you're with us."

It was true, she was glad that he was there. Like Wilson, there was no cloud of subterfuge about the soldier, only an air of skill and quiet competence. He took her gear and stowed it away in the helicopter. The air at the camp was marginally cooler than that of Baghdad, a breeze blowing down from the north, absorbing the perspiration that dotted her brow. She scanned for Harry, noting once again his lack of concern for her well-being. He was across the compound with Ronnie and McCaul, leaving Ruth to trail behind with the two soldiers. Ordinarily leery of the military, she was thankful for the company of Jensen and welcomed the sense of security that he imparted.

Huddled around an officer, the men surveyed a map, making gestures to the east. As Ruth approached with Jensen, Harry looked up, his mouth hard, his gaze fathomless behind dark glasses. She felt like a schoolgirl, silently admonished for not keeping up with the rest of the class. She stood a bit closer to Jensen. Banished to the periphery, Ruth had no idea what the men were saying. Mouth parched, she reached for the water that Wilson had given her but before she could unscrew the cap, the map was folded up and the group disbanded. The party moved toward two waiting jeeps, and Ruth's heart sank at the thought of further travel. Her spirits rose when she found herself seated beside Harry with Jensen at the wheel. She looked at Harry, willing him to look at her, hoping they could communicate with the silent semaphore they had perfected at Thames House. Staring straight ahead, Harry gave no indication that anything was amiss, his face as placid as an undisturbed lake. He was absolutely infuriating. Hassan was dead, the CIA had fabricated el-Kazi's testimony, and now she and Harry had probably walked right into Providence and a nest of hidden vipers.

"Better put on your seatbelt, ma'am," said Jensen advised catching Ruth's eye in the review mirror.

Pulling the strap across her midriff, she glared at the back of the Private's head. Unable to get enough slack, she angrily tugged at the belt. God, she was beginning to hate seatbelts. The latch proved uncooperative under her fumbling fingers. Harry's hand moved over hers and he slid the metal into the casing with an efficient clink. His fingers remained on top of hers and she looked up into his face. His eyes remained hidden behind the dark glasses but the hard line of his mouth eased, his lips parting in a silent word. It wasn't quite the commiserate gaze that used to pass between them back at Thames House, but it was enough to signal that she should trust him.

After winding through a maze of blast barriers, the vehicles headed out of the camp and onto the open road. The sun beat down with an unrelenting fierceness. The antiquated air conditioning of the jeep was ineffectual, leaving them no choice but to roll down the windows. The noise from the vehicle added to the discomfort, and Ruth's vertebrae jangled, any excitement she might have felt from being in the field replaced by a longing for a decent chair with lumbar support. Perhaps the discomfort was all part of the CIA's plan to slowly wear them down. After what felt like an eternity, they came upon a circle of warehouses and slowed down as they drove into the compound. Everyone exited the trucks and gathered around McCaul.

"Fertilizer factory," McCaul explained. "Or at least that's what they wanted us to believe."

He walked toward the warehouse and the group dutifully followed him.

Inside the cavernous space, their footsteps echoed as they walked across the concrete floor. The other soldier who had accompanied them opened a large metal door, the hinges creaking ominously as they laboured under its weight. A set of stairs disappeared into the darkness. Ruth stepped back, baulking at the idea of going underground, visions of the door being closed on her and Harry, and not a soul around to hear her screams. Unaware of her reticence, the other members of the team readily moved forward and descended the steps. Harry paused and looked back, searching for her. For the first time since the start of their journey, she saw his eyes. There was an imperceptible tilt to his head; she needed to stay with him. If it were a trap, surely he would have sensed it. Ruth gathered her courage and followed behind the men, a wall of cool air hitting her as she descended. When she reached the bottom step, she was greeted by rows of shelves. The slats were covered with dirt and dust and housing what looked to be warheads. Ruth stared in disbelief.

"Nearly fifty here," McCaul spoke. "'Course most of the Sarin in them is depleted. Still deadly though."

Ruth dared not look at Harry lest she telegraph to McCaul that they both knew that the weapons were not Iraqi made but leftover ordinance from when the Americans backed Saddam against Iran. It made sense that the arsenal had been discovered there; Saddam had used it against the Kurdish people.

"We were tipped about this cache through our source," McCaul explained.

"Chemical weapons are one thing," Harry said unimpressed by the display. "But what about the weapons of mass destruction?"

"Sarin not deadly enough for you, Harry?" Ronnie mocked.

"There's uranium here." McCaul's face shone as if he had revealed the exact location of the Holy Grail.

"At this site?" Harry raised a brow.

"Our Intel indicates it's north of here," said McCaul. "All we need you to do is find Windwalker, so we can get the exact coordinates. You think you can do that, Harry?"

"I'm sure we can," Harry responded blandly.

He was such a cool liar. Ruth looked at the ground, envying Harry's ability to prevaricate.

"We're here now," McCaul continued. "Let me show you around."

McCaul strolled away as if he were leading a tour through a vintner's wine cellar. Ruth made to follow the men but as she drew near to Harry, he nudged her with his shoulder.

"Pretend you're not feeling well," Harry whispered.

Ruth creased her brow in confusion, but Harry looked away, trusting that she would do as he asked. After a few paces, she put a hand to her forehead.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked in a voice loud enough for the rest of the group to hear.

"Just feeling a little dizzy."

The group had turned around, and Ronnie gave Ruth a look of exasperation.

"She just needs a bit of air," Harry prescribed. "Perhaps Private Jensen could escort her back up."

Jensen looked at McCaul, who in return gave a nod of consent.

Harry whispered to Ruth. "Go stand near our vehicle."

Giving no indication that Harry had just spoken to her, Ruth smiled apologetically at Jensen. The soldier motioned for Ruth to walk in front of him and she preceded him up the stairs, and back through the warehouse. Once they were outside, Ruth moved to their jeep and leaned wearily against it.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said weakly. "I guess I'm not used to the heat. I suppose you are, being from Arizona."

Jensen gave her a crooked grin, pleased that she had recalled the detail from their previous encounter. "It gets pretty hot there too, ma'am."

"Still, it must seem rather strange here," she said in an effort to keep the conversation flowing, unsure of the reason why Harry had asked her to feign illness.

"I did a tour in Afghanistan so I had an idea of what it would be like here."

"But you must miss your home," she prompted.

Jensen looked at her strangely, his mouth opening slightly. Ruth wondered if she had overstepped a boundary in becoming too familiar with the young man. His eyes fluttered closed, and his head lowered to his chest as the muscles in his neck collapsed. A pair of hands came around from behind Jensen's waist, and when the soldier's torso collapsed Harry was revealed to be behind him. Ruth watched in horror as Harry eased Jensen onto the ground. Kneeling beside the private, Harry paused and adjusted the strap on his watch. Ruth stared at him in equal parts anger and disbelief.

"What did you do to him?"

"You're not the only one who has the benefit of Malcolm's gadgets."

Giving her no further explanation as to what chemical he may have injected into the young man, Harry concentrated on searching the pockets of the soldier and pulled out a set of keys. He loosened the strap of Jensen's rifle and handed it over to Ruth. She recoiled from the weapon. Harry stood up and shoved the rifle into her hands, leaving her no choice but to take it. It was heavy and cold and completely foreign to her. Harry walked around to the other side of the jeep and started the engine.

"Get in," Harry yelled over the motor.

"We can't just leave him here," Ruth yelled back. She had grown rather fond of the young soldier.

"He'll be fine." The engine revved under his foot. "Get in or I'll leave you behind."

Galvanised by his words, Ruth shook off her indignation and scrambled into the jeep, juggling the rifle and her laptop case as she took her seat. "A field officer would be totally wasted," she mumbled sarcastically.

"What's that?" Harry yelled.

"Nothing."

"Fasten your seat belt then," he warned.

Wheels spinning in the dirt, Harry barrelled out of the compound leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Shifting the gears as if it were second nature, he set the vehicle on a course diametrically opposed to that from which they had come. He pulled a map out of his pocket and handed it to her. With the finesse of a magician, he had somehow managed to procure the map from the officer back at the camp.

"We need to get here." He pointed at a spot to the north, one hand on the wheel, one eye still on the road. "I need you to figure out how to get there."

"What is it? What's there?"

"Providence."

Windows down, the wind whipped at them as they race along the narrow highway. Ruth took a moment to digest his answer. Providence was an entirely different site. Providence was at the coordinates that Hassan supposedly knew. She struggled with the map as if she were folding an origami swan and traced her finger along the printed road.

"It's going to take a couple of hours."

"We've got a few minutes until they discover I'm not coming back."

"Minutes?" Ruth echoed.

"At some point, we may have to ditch this car," Harry commented offhandedly as if they were teenagers on a joyride and not on the run from the CIA. "I need you to look up the shipping manifest from Edgewater. Find a delivery crossing from Turkey going to that destination."

Hair blew across her eyes, and Ruth swatted it away as she pulled the laptop from her bag. The blue scarf fell out and landed on the floor. She picked it up and put it on her head, tying the ends behind her neck and tucking her hair underneath it. Harry glanced at her, and then looked at her again.

"Where did you get that from?"

"Liz Denning." She flipped open the laptop. "The reporter."

"I told you not to talk-" He shook his head in exasperation. "Do you do everything I tell you not to do?"

She ignored his question and focused on finding the relevant spreadsheet. "How do you know that we should be going to this place?"

"Everything about this trip has been manufactured. Our hunt for Hassan is meant to fail because the CIA will discover him, and then the dead scientist will magically give them those coordinates."

"How do you know this is Providence? How do you know there is something there?"

"Just a hunch after I got a call from Adam this morning."

"Adam? Why didn't you tell me?"

"If you had been at the hotel when you were supposed to be, we would have been able to discuss this." His foot pressed harder on the gas. "It would seem that the Georgians who were smuggling weapons-"

"You mean the Asbakazis," Ruth corrected him.

Harry gave her a sidelong glance. "They had weapons-grade uranium."

"In London?"

"No, it's moving through Turkey."

Harry remained silent, waiting for Ruth to put the pieces together.

"Moving through Turkey to Iraq. Of course, there would be uranium in a former Soviet republic." Ruth studied the road as she formulated the scenario. "The Americans are going to buy the uranium up under the name of Avarice and then use it to confirm an Iraqi nuclear program."

"They have to stage it first." Harry pointed to the map. "And north of here is a power plant."

"Non-functioning, of course," Ruth surmised.

"Of course," Harry confirmed. "They're not going to buy it directly. There's another player somewhere."

"We still don't know who Shadow is," Ruth pointed out. "Why do we need to go there? We could just go to the Ambassador with our findings."

"We have no proof."

"What about the CIA transcripts?"

"They could say we fabricated them. We have no proof Hassan is dead. No proof the weapons back there were originally supplied by the Americans. We have to get to the site while they are staging it and get that uranium out of the country."

Harry eased up on the gas as the road diverged into two separate paths. The car rolled to a stop and he turned to her.

"Which way?"

Ruth looked at the map, her eyes unable to focus on the lines. In her mind, his question had taken on a weight of its own; did she want to go forward or back, with him, or without him. Brushing a stray piece of hair from her eye, she looked at him.

"We can't outrun the CIA, Harry."

"We only have to get to the site before they do."

"When I was at their offices, they had monitors showing satellite surveillance of the entire country. They'll know exactly where we are." She imparted the information in her most serious tone, hoping that he would see the futility of their mission.

"Looks like will be losing this car sooner than later." Instead of backing down, a mischievous grin spread across his face, his eyes dancing with an unspoken challenge. Take the risk, and go with him.

The engine hummed, waiting for her decision. Her heart sat in her throat, rising from the danger of his proposal and the roguish charm of his demeanour. It had been such a long time since he had bestowed such a warm smile on her that she was slightly intoxicated by it. In the end, did she really have a choice? She was in the middle of nowhere with this man, and at that moment in time, she didn't want to be anywhere else. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the map.

"That way." She pointed to the right.

Rubber squealed against the highway as Harry tore off with a hard right turn. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his mobile.

"Call this number and enter the coordinates that are on the map."

Ruth took the phone. There was no identification with the number that Harry had asked her to call. "Who is it?"

"An insurance policy."

Ruth stared at the phone, her throat constricting as she contemplated what could go wrong. Her foot brushed against the rifle on the floor and she hastily withdrew it. She wiped the thoughts away and punched in the number.

"There's no signal."

"Keep trying. And see if you can get a hold of that reporter friend of yours."

"She's not my friend," Ruth contradicted him irritably as she fished Denning's card out of her laptop bag. "Am I supposed to tell her our theory?"

"No," Harry answered sharply. "Tell her to go to Maude House."

Ruth tried the phone again. "Maybe we'll find a signal if we get closer to a town."

Her eyes scanned the horizon for a sign of civilization only to encounter a panorama as barren as the moon. The mobile told her it was going on four. Even though she hadn't eaten anything since the morning, she wasn't hungry. Instead, she felt possessed of a renewed energy, the speed of the car refuelling her stamina. Harry's hands gripped the wheel with a sense of surety. Is this what he had experienced in the field? She studied him as he concentrated on the road. A youthful energy exuded from him; the absence of his suit taking years off his appearance, the few hours in the sun giving him a healthier glow. He turned to her before she could look away. He flashed her a smile filled with conspiratorial glee. He loved this; they were in his milieu, in the field away from the anchor of his desk. He was alive. They were both alive. Her lips wavered in an answering smile, his energy enveloping her, catching her up in the same sense of adventure. They were in this together, they were a team. The elixir of freedom coursed through her veins, as the restraints of their professional roles fell away. In a new situation, they could be entirely new people. Her chest moved rapidly at the thought that she was now an officer in the field. Harry quickly glanced at the road and then back to her. The smile disappeared from his face, replaced by smouldering intensity, eyes heavy-lidded with remembrance. The bottom fell from her stomach and her breathing ceased. Invoked by the heady combination of danger and their own bravado, the last sin on the list left the shadows and entered the car. The desert wind whipped around them, the air moving beneath her clothes, her hand tingling with the urge to reach out and touch him.

 _Prove that you're alive_ , the wind whispered, _lean over and kiss him_.

Shocked by her thoughts, she tore her gaze away from his and glanced at the road.

"Harry," she screamed. "Look out."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N - Thank you so much for reading and review the last chapter. I've tried to incorporate everything the writers threw into the first episode of season eight, though I may have lost a bit of my mind in the process._

 _._

Chapter 10

Bodies in motion stay in motion, and following the law of physics Ruth's body continued to move forward as the jeep screeched to a stop. Instinctively, one hand curbed around the laptop, her other hand shooting out to brace herself against the dashboard. The seatbelt stalled her forward momentum and jerked her back into position. Placing her hand on her chest, she acknowledged a new found love for the safety device. A string of colourful expletives fell from Harry's lips as he cursed his distracted state. The keys tinkled as they swayed in the ignition, and the engine ticked softly as they both sat in stunned silence looking at the road in front of them. A lone goat stood in the middle of the highway, unperturbed by the tonne of metal that had been hurtling towards it. As if from the ether, two men appeared at the side of the road and gazed at the vehicle with curiosity.

"What do you think the chances are of either of those two men having a car that they would like to trade with us?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Ruth replied breathlessly, her heart still beating in double time from the abrupt stop.

"Go and asked them."

"Me?"

"You speak the language. And you're less intimidating."

She couldn't argue with his reasoning.

"What should I tell them?"

"I don't know. You'll think of something."

Quickly glancing in the rearview mirror, Harry shifted the vehicle into park and nodded at Ruth. With a sigh of resignation, she adjusted the scarf on her head and climbed out of the jeep, hoping that inspiration would hit her as she walked toward the men.

"Salaam Alaykum," she said, her head lowered in deference. The two men greeted her with broad smiles, and her shoulders relaxed significantly.

After a brief conversation, Ruth returned to the truck with the younger of the two men. Opening the door, she motioned for him to get in the back seat while she took her place in the front.

"Mahmoud, this is my cameraman…" She looked at Harry with the same look he had given her at the underground weapons cache. "Dave."

Harry looked at her blankly and then turned to the man in the back seat and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Ruth turned to Harry. "I told Mahmoud about the piece we're doing for the Post on how life has changed for Kurdish people after the war, and he has agreed to talk to us."

Harry brow lifted. "That's great."

"I also told him how we were looking for a different vehicle. One that would help us blend in a bit more, and he knows someone who might be able to help us."

"Even better," Harry responded under his breath. "Which way?"

The young man pointed over Harry's shoulder. "Over there."

"Over there it is." Harry shifted the jeep into drive and steered the vehicle off the main road and onto a dirt path.

As they bumped along the irregular road, Mahmoud chatted amiably about his plans to attend university now that his country was free. The young man's English was quite good, and Ruth was quick to compliment him on his proficiency. Mahmoud explained that over time his father had managed to set up a supply depot, their house being the only building in the area. After a few minutes, they came upon a group of buildings, which turned out to be the farm of Mahmod's parents. Planted proudly atop the roof, a flag stirred in the breeze, displaying the red, white and green stripes of a liberated Kurdistan. Mounted alongside the flag was a satellite dish.

"We should be able to get a signal here," mused Ruth.

A bungalow of faded pink and yellow brick sat inside a walled garden and stretching behind it lay a grove of olive trees. An older man walked toward them as a woman stood in the door frame, their faces full of suspicion at the sight of an American jeep entering their compound. Mahmoud jumped out of the vehicle and launched into a hasty explanation as he approached them. The face of the man changed and he nodded to his son. Mahmoud ran back to the jeep.

"My parents want to welcome you," said Mahmoud. "They would be delighted to tell you their story."

Harry gave Ruth a warning look. "We can't stay here long."

"I think I'm going to have to interview them as part of our cover so they will trade us a vehicle."

Harry looked around the courtyard as a flapping chicken landed on the hood of the jeep. "I can only imagine what kind of car they have here." Taking the keys out of the ignition he paused and looked at her. "I'm your cameraman, but I have no camera."

"Here use this." Ruth dipped into her laptop bag and extracted the mobile that Malcolm had given her. Harry looked at it with curiosity. "You can take pictures with it."

"What do I call you?" he asked.

"Liz," she responded as she opened the door and hefted herself out of the vehicle.

They were ushered into the house as if they were visiting dignitaries. Mahmoud informed his parents that Ruth spoke Arabic. Clapping her hands in delight, the woman launched into a rapid-fire conversation. Ruth asked her to slow down, the dialect of the region slightly off to her ears.

"She wants us to stay for a meal," Ruth translated for Harry. She was secretly pleased with the proposition, the adrenaline rush having subsided replaced by the gnawing insistence of hunger. She bolstered her case. "We can't continue without food. We could do the interview while we're eating."

"Whatever you say, Liz. You're the boss."

There was a subtle hint of mockery to his comment that was noticeable only to Ruth and she gave him a warning glance. Harry's face was the epitome of innocence; he was completely enjoying the charade. "Why don't I get a few pictures?" He pulled out his phone as well as Malcolm's device. "Looks like there's a signal," he quietly observed and punched in a few numbers.

Further into the house, they passed a room where two young girls sat on the floor watching music videos on a high-end television. Harry raised his eyebrow at Ruth, acknowledging the incongruity of the appliance in such a humble house. They were ushered into an eating space where Mahmoud and his father took their places on the floor. They motioned for Harry to do the same, and Ruth suppressed a smile when Harry struggled to cross his legs as he sat. Bowls of couscous and meat with flatbread were served, along with other delicacies that Ruth could not name. There were no plates or cutlery only the communal sharing of bread and the act of dipping into the bowls. Ruth ran through a number of questions in her head and after a few bites to appease her clamouring stomach, asked Mahmoud and his family about their experiences. She set her mobile on the table and recorded the conversation, hoping that she came across as a professional reporter. She listened with genuine interest as they relayed accounts of the harshness of their life under Sadaam, the relief they had felt when he had been defeated, the excitement for their future, as well as dismay over the reconstruction efforts in the country. During the conversation, she glanced at Harry as he fiddled with the bread and meat. Mahmod's mother pushed a bowl at Harry, telling him to eat. He rewarded the woman with an engaging smile and complimented her cooking with his smattering of Arabic. Emotion swelled inside Ruth's chest as she watched him. He could be so utterly charming when he wanted to be. As much as she had enjoyed dinner at the Ambassador's residence, the simple meal in the little house was a far more authentic experience. Her mind stepped outside of her body, taking a mental picture of the moment, savouring the smell of the food, the calm comfort of the room, the hospitality given to them by strangers in a foreign land. Her thoughts turned to T E Lawrence and his travels. Her mind was jolted back to the present when Mahmod's words filtered into her daydream.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"The Indian man. He has been through here a few times. We are the only place with gas for a great distance."

Ruth looked at Harry. He gave no indication that he was surprised by the news and continued to calmly sop up a pool of olive oil with his bread.

"You have been most generous," Harry said in an unhurried voice. "You know, Liz, we should think about moving on."

"You're probably right, Dave." Ruth turned off her phone.

Harry grimaced as he unfolded his limbs and rose from the floor. Ruth followed him, profusely thanking Mahmoud and his family for the meal and their time. Harry gave Ruth a look, and she spoke to Mahmoud reminding him of their need for another vehicle.

"Of course, of course," the young man assured her. "My father knows all about these things. This way"

They followed Mahmoud and his father around to the back of the house. Underneath the pristine olive trees lay piles of car parts along with barrels of what Ruth presumed contained petrol. Alongside the carburettors and exhaust pipes sat four cars lined in a row, all of them looking relatively new. Harry walked over to one car and regarded it with admiration.

"It's a Mercedes," he said with muted surprise.

"There are no more sanctions. Gas is cheap. Everyone has a car." Ruth parroted the explanation Wilson had given her, though she hadn't realised its far-reaching implications until that moment.

While Harry and Mahmoud talked about the car, Ruth returned to the jeep and retrieved her laptop. On a whim, she popped open the glove box and found a pair of binoculars and a flashlight. She stowed them in her bag. The rifle still lay on the floor. She eyed it warily; she couldn't leave it behind. With equal parts apprehension and resignation, she picked it up by the strap and awkwardly carried it over to the car. When she passed by Mahmoud's mother, the woman's eyes opened with surprise.

"Just for protection," Ruth assured her.

Mahmoud approached Ruth. "My father wants to know if you will add the rifle into the bargain."

"That would leave us without any defence," Harry countered.

"We are worried about bandits," Mahmoud explained. "We too need protection."

During the conversation, Mahmoud's father had entered the house and returned. As he walked toward them, he offered up two revolvers for Harry to inspect. Harry took one and gingerly tested the weight of the gun in his hand. He ran his finger along the barrel and then turned the weapon over as he examined it. He popped the magazine open with the ease of a man familiar with weapons, and a slow smile spread across his face.

"What is it?" Ruth asked.

"It's a Makarov. Nine millimetre."

"Russian?" she asked. Harry nodded. "Through Asbaskzi?" she prompted.

"Anything is possible in this country." Harry turned to Mahmoud. "If you have any ammunition to go with this, we'll make the trade."

"A rifle is much better for distances," Mahmoud said.

"And a handgun for close range," added Harry.

Ruth wondered exactly how close Harry intended to get to his target.

The bargain sealed, the rifle was exchanged for the two handguns, and the conversation turned to the second leg of their journey. Unfolding the map, Harry spread it across the hood of the car. The men bent over the paper, talking quietly, pointing out routes and roads. With final words of thanks, Ruth and Harry took their seats in the car. They sat for a moment, silently adjusting to the feel of the luxury sedan after the jeep.

"Did you get everything? Harry asked.

"Found these." She held up the flashlight and the binoculars. "And my laptop."

"I can't believe you've managed to lug that thing everywhere with you."

"Do you know how valuable this is? It has everything we've learned on it."

Harry held out a pistol to Ruth.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" She looked at him dubiously, refusing to take the weapon.

"You don't know when you might need it."

She opened her mouth to protest but Harry shoved the gun into her hand. It was heavier than she had anticipated, and she quickly stashed it into her bag as if it were on fire, vowing that she would never use it. Harry had left his sidearm prominently positioned in the console between them, his attention focused on decoding the buttons and switches of their new vehicle. Satisfied that he was acquainted with the car, Harry started the engine. Unlike the jeep, the car purred with an engineered precision. They backed out of the compound, and Ruth gave a final wave to the family as they stood in the garden.

Harry's foot hit the gas.

The sun traversed its slow path towards the horizon as they continued on their way north. If Ruth's calculations were correct, they still had a few hours left before nightfall. With favourable conditions, they might be able to make it to their destination before dark. The car travelled as if they were driving over a sheet of glass, and the needle of the speedometer crept incrementally higher. Ruth didn't mention the fact to Harry.

"Do you think the Indian man was Mani?" she asked.

"I would place a very large wager on that being the case."

"He could be Shadow."

"I'm sure they've used as many cut-outs as possible so nothing can be traced back to Six or the CIA."

Unimpeded by traffic, the car clipped along the road at a steady pace, the scenery subtly shifting from barren land to random spots of greenery. The road shimmered in the heat as the sun refused to leave the sky. If only the drive would last forever. She had no idea what awaited them when they arrived at their destination.

"Do you have a plan for when we reach the site?" she asked. "Or are we just going in guns blazing?" A hint of sarcasm leaked into her question, underscoring how ridiculous it was for her to have a gun.

"Do you know how to use that weapon?"

A derisive burst of air escaped at the absurdity of his question. She was about to remind him that she was a desk spook and that during her training her marksmanship scores had been appallingly low, but a small voice silenced her - she was trying to prove her mettle as a field agent. Even so, she could not completely hide her aversion to the firearm.

"I'm not going to use a gun, Harry." She settled into her seat with a sanctimonious air. "Besides, it's against the policy of the Service for unsanctioned officers to use a firearm."

The needle on the speedometer fell and the car slowed down. Harry pulled the vehicle off to the side of the road.

"What are you doing?" Ruth looked around anxiously, trying to figure out why he had stopped.

"Get your gun."

"I'm not going to-"

"Get the gun, Ruth."

Without waiting for her reply, Harry opened his door and exited the car. Crossing her arms in defiance, Ruth sat in stubborn silence waiting for him to return. Harry planted himself in front of the vehicle and examined the chamber of his weapon, entirely confident that if it came to a test of wills she would relent. She tapped her fingers against her arms, seething at his detached superiority. How she loathed it when he made her dig into the depths of her psyche and pull out the darker aspects of her nature, pieces that would never see the light of day under normal circumstances. A defeated sigh left her lips. She would never win against him. Reluctantly, she retrieved the gun from the case and stepped out of the car. With the attitude of a surly teenager, she walked around to where Harry stood.

"This is the safety." Harry pointed to a small switch on his gun. "It has to be off to fire."

"I don't want to do this, Harry."

"I'm not going to stand here and debate the merits of self-defence with you. You're an intelligent woman. Extreme situations call for extreme measures."

"You said it yourself that they won't do anything to us. They need us."

He looked at her with exasperation. "Release the safety."

Mouth drawn in sullen protest, Ruth looked down at the gun and belligerently flipped the switch. The spring clicked, and a piece of her moral outrage fell away, her mind divorcing from the situation.

"Pull the barrel back to cock it; that moves it from single action to double action."

She looked at him from under her lids having no idea what he was talking about but she followed his instructions.

"Okay." Harry motioned to the horizon. "Take a shot."

Ruth squinted out into the landscape. "There's nothing to shoot at."

"There's a car over there."

Half buried in the sand, a derelict vehicle lay abandoned, doors missing, all salvageable parts scavenged.

"That's too far away. I can't hit that."

"The only thing scarier than a person with a gun is a person with a gun who doesn't know how to use it."

She wasn't sure if the maxim was supposed to bolster her confidence or act as an insult. Fine, she conceded, she would show him her utter lack of marksmanship. Taking a deep breath, she raised the gun.

"No." Harry took a step and caught her hand before she could fire. "Cup it in your other hand like this." He brought her other palm up to cradle the hand with the gun. "Use it to steady your arm." He shifted back. "It's going to be very loud so be prepared."

She closed her eyes.

"Don't close your eyes," he barked.

Her eyes flew open. Her cheeks grew warm as his gaze burned into her, challenging her to rise to the occasion.

"There's going to be a bit of recoil so be prepared."

Her shoulders hunched inward and her arms tightened trying to create as much distance as possible between herself and the gun.

"Don't tense up," he commanded.

A huff of exasperation left her. "Is there anything I am doing right?

In answer to her question, he placed his hand on her lower back, and she froze. His fingers pressed against the vertebrae of her spine and her posture instantly straightened, a current of electricity surging through her body. Taking a step, he manoeuvred himself to stand directly behind her. One hand slid under her ribs and came to rest on the curve of her waist, while the other hand rose to her shoulder and pressed down on the muscle, forcing her to relax. Unbalanced, she tipped back into him, and his hands fell to her hips to steady her. Everything stopped. All thoughts of defiance drained away. Harry remained perfectly still. The heat of his palms seeped through her clothes, the weight of his hands moulded to her hips. The button on the pocket of his jacket pressed through her blouse just above the waistband of her trousers, his torso briefly skimming against her back. Unbidden, a flush of desire stirred beneath her skin. Any hint of a breeze vanished, and a wave of heat rose from the sand, instantly causing a sheen of moisture to form on her flesh. A tiny drop of perspiration rolled down her neck and over her collarbone, finding a trail across the slope of her chest. She didn't dare breathe. She was certain that he wasn't breathing either. Unable to turn around and see him, her eyes darted back and forth, her chest moving with shallow breaths, wondering what he was going to do next. The drop of perspiration trickled lower, slowly sliding into the valley between her breasts. She closed her eyes, anticipation fluttering in her stomach. After an eternity had passed, he exhaled a long breath, stirring the hair at the back of her neck.

"Find your centre."

Voice deep and low, his tone had changed from terse commands to sonorous coaxing. He tapped the back of her leg with his knee and slid his foot between her feet and nudged them apart.

"If you were a sharpshooter," he murmured, "I would ask you to control your breathing and fire between your heart beats." His fingers flexed on her hips. "But I'm not going to ask you to do that."

It would have been an impossible task, for her heart was beating at a thousand times per minute. His breath brushed along the plane of her cheek, the warm air from his lips imbuing her with a power that she did not know she possessed. Her hands tightened on the handle of the gun, the steel within her connecting with the metal. His mouth was so close to her ear, his words sounded like they were in her head.

"Take the shot."

Without thinking, she squeezed the trigger.

The force of the gun vibrated through her arms. A blast echoed in her ears, and her heart jumped to her throat as the twang of metal sounded in the distance, all in quick succession. A bolt of satisfaction coursed through her veins and the muscles of her arms trembled with relief as she continued to hold them in the firing position.

"Good girl." His lips brushed her ear as he congratulated her.

He stepped away, and placed his hand on top of her arms, gently easing them down. She blinked, rousing herself from a semi-shocked state, her chest rising and falling with sharp gasps as if she had just run a race. She looked at him.

"I'm not a girl."

The muscle in his jaw twitched as he held her eyes. He slowly lowered his eyes, raking them over her body, pausing long enough to slip beneath the fabric of her clothes and imprint his gaze on her flesh before they rose back up to her.

"No, you're not."

He turned and walked back toward the car. Arms hanging limply by her side, the gun in her hand, she stood staring after him. If someone were to ask her what the status of their relationship was at that moment in time, she would be hard-pressed to define it, for she was certainly a long way from being his analyst, and he most certainly did not feel like her boss. He waited by the passenger side, and she trudged over to the vehicle, thinking that he was going to open the door for her. When she reached him, he tossed her the keys.

"You drive." He opened the door and seated himself.

Stunned, Ruth looked at the keys, feeling as though she had just completed the twelve labours of Hercules in one go, and had now been asked to do six more. She walked around to the driver's side and entered the car. The gun was still in her hand, and she looked around for a place to put it. Out of options, she decided to store it beside Harry's in the console. There was no use hiding it; she couldn't ignore it. Harry regarded her, the barest trace of a satisfied smirk on his face. She hated it when he was right. The keys jangled as she unceremoniously jammed them into the ignition. The car started and she gripped the steering wheel with both hands, the engine smoothly turning over, the power of the vehicle apparent. She took a moment to get her bearings. It had been a while since she had driven. She shifted out of park and rolled forward, gently easing the car back onto the highway.

"You're on the wrong side of the road," Harry pointed out.

"Sorry," she muttered under her breath as she switched lanes. Fighting her nerves, she pressed her foot on the gas, her eyes dropping to the speedometer.

"We'll never get there at this rate," Harry observed.

Ruth stared at the road in front of her. Did everything have to be a challenge with this man? Gritting her teeth, she let the full weight of her foot rest on the gas. The pedal offered no resistance and yielded to her pressure. The needle climbed higher but it felt like they were hardly moving. She pressed harder, the feel of the car becoming more comfortable. Her hands relaxed on the wheel as she grew accustomed to the power of the car, relishing the thrum of the engine. Harry opened his window, a cool burst of air rushing in as they accelerated. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

"That's better."

The road stretched out before her, and she settled back into the seat, becoming one with the vehicle that was now under her control. A smile broke across her face. For the first time since she had arrived in that country, she was in the driver's seat.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The faint lights of a town glimmered in the distance, wavering like a mirage; the outline of the buildings black against the orange backdrop of the setting sun. A haze of heat cradled the glowing orb, a giant hand holding the day, slowing its descent into darkness. Momentarily mesmerized by the beauty of the sunset, Ruth eased the pressure of her foot off the accelerator, and the car slowed down. A cough from Harry startled her and she returned her eyes to the road. Having gained her attention, Harry pointed to a spot further down the highway. A bombed out building lay crumbling under the weight of neglect, and he motioned for her to pull over into the tattered yard. She manoeuvred the car around a dilapidated wall, the wheels crunching over broken brick and debris. She killed the engine, and with the hum of machinery gone, a tense silence settled around them. As the end of the journey neared, their conversation had all but evaporated, words seeming superfluous at that point. Ruth was in no hurry to leave the safety of the car, relishing the moment of peace before wholeheartedly committing herself to Harry's scheme. Unfortunately, they could not stay in the car forever. Harry checked the magazine of his gun, and then examined hers. Satisfied with the state of both weapons, he grabbed the binoculars from the dashboard.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

It was a rhetorical question, she had no choice. She nodded her agreement. Harry reached for the door handle and stepped out of the car. Collecting her water bottle from her laptop case, Ruth followed behind him. The deep purple outline of her shadow stretched out before her as she walked around to his side of the car. Elbows propped up on the roof of the vehicle, Harry scanned the road behind them with the binoculars. She leaned back against the vehicle, taking a moment to rest, hoping to find her second wind.

"What if we're wrong?" she asked quietly.

"You're the one who made the calculations." Harry fiddled with the lenses of the binoculars.

"I remember you saying I'm not infallible." It was a half-hearted attempt at humour. "The calculation was all a bit like working out if train A leaves the station at this time..."

"Word problems," Harry mumbled. "Bane of my existence."

"They're simple really if you reduce them down to an algebraic equation."

Harry gave her a sidelong glance, and her voice trailed off. She twisted the cap off the water bottle and raised it to her lips. Before she could take a drink, Harry absently put out his hand, and she handed the bottle to him. Keeping his eyes on the road, he took a long swig, his Adam's apple bobbing as the water trickled down his throat. He handed her the bottle and drew the heel of his hand across his chin to catch a stray drop. Ruth took a sip, not bothering to wipe off the mouth of the bottle, her lips drinking from the same spot where his lips had rested. At this rate, any boundaries left between them would disappear with the setting sun. There was a streak of dirt across his cheek, and she quelled the urge to lick her thumb and scrub it away. Her face was probably just as dirty. In the distance, the smokeless stacks of the abandoned power plant rose like forgotten obelisks. Was the uranium already there? Or was it still in transit as she had projected? Ruth shivered; a combination of the cooling night air and the realisation of the dangerous task that loomed before them. Harry set the binoculars on the car roof and removed his field jacket.

"Here."

"I can't take it."

"Don't be stubborn."

Relenting, she took the jacket from him and slipped it on. Layers of the day rose from the weave of the rough canvas; petrol fumes and desert dust and the musk of the man who had been wearing it. She sank deeper into the fabric, letting it embrace her, hoping to absorb some of his strength. Harry returned his attention to monitoring the road, and she slyly studied him. The large silver band of his watch stood out against his wrist, the metal refracting the low rays of the sun. That watch had taken down a man. It was strange to see him out of his suit and in a black t-shirt. The breadth of his chest was outlined underneath the cotton, his biceps visible as he crooked his arms to look out through the binoculars. Not overly muscular but certainly strong enough to overpower her. An aura of tension crackled around him; a predator on the hunt, exercising a controlled patience as he lay in wait for his prey. It was all slightly mercenary. Tearing her eyes away, Ruth shifted her attention to the other side of the horizon. The sun, as stubborn as she, refused to succumb to the night and acknowledge its dominance.

"Shalim," she whispered.

"What?"

"The god of dusk."

Harry kept his eyes trained on the road as he spoke. "You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met."

"Me? How?" She turned her head to him. "What have I done?"

"Apparently, you had to travel halfway across the planet to find your missing spirit of romance."

Ruth drew her head back with indignation. "I've always had a spirit of romance."

"In the abstract, maybe."

"Is that why you brought me here?" The words tumbled from her lips, exhaustion and hunger and the workings of Shalim crowding out the editor that would normally control her thoughts. "To seduce me?"

Before she could blink, Harry spun around and slapped his hand on the car next to her shoulder. With his arms on either side of her, she was effectively trapped. Her mouth opened in surprise and she stepped back trying to fold herself into the metal of the vehicle, wishing to heaven she had not uttered those last words. He brought his head down, his lips a fraction away from hers.

"Is that the kind of man you think I am?" he snarled at her.

His words rasped against her cheek, and her heart thudded in a tattoo of panic. He had been angry at her before but not like this. Simmering under the surface of his frustration was a baser need, one barely kept in check by civility. She had poked the bear and now stood between his paws, he could finish her off with one bite. Closing her eyes, she remained perfectly still hoping that he would let her go, and return to his reconnaissance. He was tired and on edge just like her. But he didn't let her go, instead, he pressed in closer.

"Don't you think if I had brought you here to seduce you I would-?"

He cut himself off, leaving the sentence unfinished, but she didn't need to hear the rest. If he had wanted to seduce her, he could have succumbed to the heat of the previous night, and taken her on the hotel room floor. The image of them wrapped together on the carpet sent a wave of fire burning through her skin. She was surrounded by him, in his coat, his arms like barricades. There was no space to move, his body touching hers, only the fabric of his jacket separating them. They were on the edge of a knife, the ride through the desert, the waiting, nerves strung tight. She swayed slightly, her own body looking for an outlet from the tension. She subtly pressed her leg against his in wordless invitation, his thigh answering back. In the stillness of the night, she could hear his breathing, her own breath becoming erratic. They could do it here, against the car, witnessed only by the god of dusk. Her mind caught up with her body; the realisation hit her that she had unconsciously baited him. Steeling her muscles, she held her arms rigid, refusing to give in to the impulse to reach up and and pull him down to her mouth. She squeezed her eyes tighter, banishing the thoughts, but he knew what she was thinking.

"You're stuck in that head of yours. Overthinking everything. It makes you a brilliant analyst but you'll never be able to solve the riddle of the human heart until you allow yourself to feel."

Stung by his comment, her eyes flew open, wide with hurt. She had feelings. She had feelings for him. Her bottom lip trembled. Damn it, she couldn't cry. Not now. Not when she needed every ounce of her concentration focused on the mission at hand. She closed her mouth, knowing that if she made the slightest movement her lips would touch his.

An engine rumbled in the distance. Instantly on the alert, Harry's head shot up. He stepped away from her and went back to looking through the binoculars, focused on his duty as if nothing had happened between them. Ruth collapsed against the car. Like a switch, he toggled back and forth, where she dare not even turn it on. She looked down at the ground and swallowed the lump of hurt that sat in her throat. Did he think her incapable of emotion, devoid of passion? She could have proved him wrong, leaned in and kissed him. But she hadn't. He was right. She lived in her head. God, how she hated that man.

"There they are."

He passed the binoculars to her, and she turned around. Scanning the horizon, she picked out a white lorry lumbering in the distance. Wordlessly, she handed the glasses back to him and walked around to the other side of the car. She knew her role. She carefully backed the vehicle out onto the road, leaving it across the lanes, cutting off the passage. She got out of the car and adjusted the scarf around her head. Belatedly, she realised she was still wearing Harry's jacket and hastily removed it, tossing it into the car. Harry walked over to her and handed her the gun.

"Tuck it in behind you," he ordered.

Ruth took the gun and slipped it into the waistband of her trousers. It was cold and hard against her spine. The metal should have strengthened her resolve but it only underscored the fragility of the human body. She would never be able to use the gun against a man. Harry went to the front of the car and popped open the bonnet, crossed to the other side of the vehicle and crouched down. Ruth stood, arms folded against the cool air, nervously waiting for the van to approach. Even though Harry was on the other side of the car, she felt utterly alone. In theory, the driver would stop and offer assistance to a single female. She and Harry had not spoken of any other possible scenarios - whoever was driving the truck could just as easily pull a gun on her, or the manifest could have been logged incorrectly, there could be more than two men with the shipment. Or the men could do something far worse.

The headlights of the van snaked around a bend, the beams illuminating its path on the road. Ruth's heart rose to her throat. She swallowed and closed her eyes, inhaling a deep breath. _Stay calm. Stay calm._ She opened her eyes. The headlights sliced through the growing dusk, blinding her. She raised a hand to shield her eyes. _Don't run away._ The van continued to barrel along the road, seemingly impervious to her presence. Without turning around, she spoke to Harry

"It's not slowing down."

"Wait for it."

Her brain told her to run, to get out of the way of the two tons of steel racing down the road, but the hard metal against her spine told her to stay. The van slowed down, air brakes squeaking through the silence of the twilight. It rolled to a stop. No one got out. The headlights remained trained on Ruth limiting the scope of her vision. She opened her mouth to speak but her voice refused. She cleared her throat and spoke hoarsely in Arabic.

"My car has broken down."

The truck revved its engine. Logic told her to flee. But where would she go? Stick with the plan.

"I think it's the engine."

A man descended from the van. After he had taken a few steps, Ruth noticed that he was carrying a rifle. She instinctively put up her hands.

"It's just me. I don't have anything." Her voice shook slightly. "Can you look at the engine for me?"

"What's a woman doing out here alone?" The man asked suspiciously, speaking in stilted Arabic.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. It was daylight when I started…" She shrugged her shoulders. "You know how women are."

The last sentence assuaged the man's suspicions and he gave her a smile that verged on a leer, damsel in distress that she was. He yelled a few words to his partner in the van. Russian. He was speaking Russian. The first hint that they might have the right shipment. He walked past her to the front of the car. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he bent down to look at the engine. Ruth came and stood beside him. Harry appeared from the other side of the car, his gun trained on the man.

"Tell your friend to get out of the van."

The man backed away from Harry and spun around to Ruth. She held her gun up at him. The man yelled a warning to his partner. The van engine turned over and it lurched forward. Suprised by the motion, Harry's attention was drawn to the van. Taking advantage of the distraction, the man jumped on Harry and the two men struggled with each other before falling to the ground. Ruth stood with the gun in her hand not knowing what to do. The van kicked into gear and drove off of the road and into the desert, wheels spinning in the sand as it tried to gain traction. Harry's voice called to Ruth as he grappled with the man.

"Get the van," he yelled.

Ruth froze with indecision. Was she supposed to jump in the car and follow the van?

"Shoot the van," Harry angrily shouted.

The vehicle was careening around them, racing to the other side of the road, swerving as the dirt impeded its movement. Ruth lifted her gun and aimed it at the truck. Her arm shook uncontrollably. Remembering Harry's instructions, she cupped the gun with both hands. Her muscles still wavered. Swearing in frustration, she rested her hand on top of the car and used the solidity of the vehicle to steady her aim. Valuable time had been lost; the van had almost circled back onto the road. She closed her eyes and fired off a shot. _Idiot._ Rule number one; keep your eyes open. The sound of fist meeting bone, and grunts of pain came from the two men behind her. She ignored them and focused on the gun. Eyes open, hand steady, she fired. Metal twanged in response. She set off another round. And then another. A tire popped and the truck swerved as the driver tried to control it. She watched in amazement, astounded that she had managed to hit anything. The van careened back into the dirt and spun around, tipping precariously to one side. The driver tried to right it, but gravity ruled, and the truck tipped over. Metal crashed together as the van skidded along in the sand, great plumes of dust rising above it. Ruth spun around to the men behind her. Harry had the other man pinned down. He drew back his hand and clubbed the man on the temple with the butt of his revolver. Ruth winced as the man's body went limp. Harry looked around and stopped when he saw her standing by the car. Wiping a trickle of blood off of his bottom lip, he stood up and walked over to her. She smiled at him and looked off over the top of the car. Harry looked in the direction and saw the van. He smiled back at her.

"Come on."

Harry slammed the bonnet of the car closed and went around to the passenger side. Ruth got in the driver side. Apparently, this was to be the new world order. She drove as close as safely possible to the overturned truck, unsure of the fate of the driver. Harry exited their car, holding his gun in front of him, and then motioned for Ruth to follow him. She grabbed the torch, keeping a few paces behind Harry. Steam hissed from the engine, as they cautiously approached. The driver lay unconscious in the front seat, the side window cracked where his head had met the glass. Harry went around to the back of the van. He fired a round at the locked doors. Ruth squeezed her eyes as her ears rang with the echo of the shot. Harry pried open the doors and went inside. She held the door open, shining the torch around to illuminate the inside of the van. Boxes lay half opened, packages of food scattered about. Harry pushed a box aside and dug then through the rest, stopping when he neared the front of the van. He looked back at Ruth. Moving halfway into the van, she aimed the light in his direction, the beam refracting off a metal surface. It was a large industrial box. Using the butt of his gun, Harry banged at the lock. It popped open. Inside the box, cushioned by foam, lay three steel canisters.

"We found it." Harry sat back on his haunches, taking a moment to collect himself.

"Be careful," cautioned Ruth.

"I'm not going to open them."

Looking back, he smiled at her with a triumphant grin. "We did it."

A small laugh escaped her lips as she tried to control her euphoria."We did it," she agreed.

Tension eased from her body as she leant against the side of the van, secretly pleased that her calculation had been correct, the thrill of victory running through her. The smile fell from Harry's lips, her own grin following. A second beam of light shot through the dimness of the van. Alarmed, Ruth turned to the source but was blinded by the beam. Harry raised his gun.

"Oh, Harry." A deep voice chastised them through came from the darkness. The light was lowered revealing Mani, a gun in his hand. "We invited you to the party and you had to go and spoil the surprise."

Mani motioned with his gun for them to exit the van. Ruth gave Harry a look of unmitigated horror, but he calmly nodded for her to do as Mani had instructed. As she climbed out of the vehicle she saw that Mani was not alone. An American jeep sat on the road, and in front of it stood Ronnie and McCaul.

"I told you we shouldn't have brought them here," Ronnie said.

"You said he was a straight shooter," Libby answered. "We needed his credibility."

At the sight of the men, anger coursed through Ruth's veins, and her body shook with frustration. How had they caught up with them? The plan had been perfect. She had overcome every obstacle that had been put in her way. She had rooted out information, put the pieces together, trekked halfway across the country, and found the uranium. She and Harry deserved to succeed.

"Jesus, Harry," said Ronnie, "Why did you have to go off like that? We had everything worked out."

"We can still salvage this," said Libby.

"Salvage what exactly?" Harry asked. "Another potentially catastrophic lie?"

"This country is coming apart at the seams." Libby took a menacing step closer. "If we don't stay and control things it'll descend into anarchy."

"By control, you mean controlling the oil supply." Harry turned to Mani. "Isn't that why you're here?"

"Isn't that why we're all here?" Mani countered.

"You've bent the rules before, Harry," said Ronnie. "You can do it again."

"And if I don't?"

"It a pretty dangerous territory out here," said Mani. "Bands of insurgents, IEDs…."

"You did take off without us." McCaul raised his hands in abdication. "No escort to protect you."

Ruth looked at Harry, unable to hide the panic that was rising within her.

"Ruth has been in contact with a member of the press," Harry countered calmly. "If anything happens to us-"

"Come on, Harry." McCaul scoffed. "You trust the press as much as we do."

"It's true," Ruth agreed. "I gave all the information to a reporter from the Post. She's at Maude House right now."

"Is that so?" Libby walked over to the car. He opened the door and pulled out the laptop case. "And how are you going to prove any of this?" He extracted the laptop and held it up in the air.

A bolt of panic shot through Ruth's body, and she lurched towards McCaul, only to be caught in the grip of Mani's hand. She struggled but Mani was stronger than her.

"You can't take that," she yelled. "Its property of MI5."

"Its property of the CIA now, sweetheart," McCaul taunted.

McCaul dropped the laptop on the road. It bounced as it hit the asphalt, the hinges cracking, a piece flying off the corner.

"No!" Ruth screamed. A part of her had chipped away with the fragment from the laptop. All of her research was on that machine, she had managed to protect it for so long, and she couldn't let it be destroyed now. She struggled against Mani but he tightened his grip on her, using both of his arms to subdue her.

"Your analyst is quite the little spitfire," Mani observed through gritted teeth.

"I'm sure it spices up other areas of your relationship, doesn't it, Harry," Ronnie commented with an insinuating grin.

"Maybe we should find that out for ourselves," Mani suggested.

Mortified, Ruth froze. Harry stepped forward.

"Let her go," Harry growled

Mani shook his head. "She knows too much."

"Wait," Ronnie directed Mani. "All you have to do, Harry, is play the game. Say you found a facility for uranium enrichment here and we might let her go."

"Our chopper is going to be here any minute," McCaul interjected. "If an accident is going to happen, it's got to be now."

He pulled out a gun and fired five shots into the laptop, effectively destroying the hard drive. A whimper left Ruth's lips, and she slumped under Mani's grip. All her work, the charts and cross-referenced documents, the trail leading to the source of the weapons and the uranium – gone.

In the distance, the faint whirr of blades cut through the night air. She looked at Harry, shaking her head, telling him not to give up the integrity of the mission in order to spare her. He looked at her angrily, silently telling her it was his choice. The helicopter grew louder. Time had run out. Harry squinted up at the sky as a black dot appeared on the horizon.

"Change of plans, Harry," said Libby. "Looks like you're going to be our guest for a while."

"People are going to ask questions," said Ronnie.

"We blow up their car - roadside bomb," said McCaul. "We can stash them at our site outside of Cape Town."

McCaul was going to fake their deaths and send them off to some black site in South Africa. They would never be heard from again. Her eyes found Harry's, and she silently mouthed his name, pleading with him to do something. He clenched his jaw, stoic to the end. She wanted to run to him, feel the comfort of his arms wrapped around her; she may never see him again. She should have kissed him when she had the chance. She should have done that and so much more. She hung her head, biting her bottom lip. She couldn't cry, not in front of these men.

The deafening roar of the helicopter approached, a bird of doom descending on the desert. It hovered for a moment, the bright beam of its searchlight trained on them. The helicopter slowly descended, dust rising, their clothes billowing, eyes burning from the sand. The blades slowed but the clouds of dust lingered. Out of the haze strode am imposing figure, followed by two soldiers carrying a large container between them. The dust settled, revealing the man.

"Hope you're pleased with yourself, Pearce," barked Waterhouse. "Treating her Majesty's forces like a personal taxi service."

Harry smiled at the Colonel. "It's in the van."

Libby and Ronnie stepped back, a look of panic crossing their faces. Mani's grip on Ruth slackened, and she rubbed her arms where his fingers had dug into the flesh. As the soldiers approached, Ruth's heart lifted in her chest, air returned to her lungs, and she thought she might cry with joy.

Waterhouse walked up to Harry, a cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. "Christ man, look at you - in the middle of the desert and you've still got a bird in tow."

Waterhouse cast a look at Ruth, but at that moment in time she didn't care how he referred to her, she had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. Waterhouse shook his head disparagingly at Harry and then motioned for his team to follow him. After the British team had moved away, McCaul stepped forward, his firearm concealed.

"You think you're pretty smart, don't you, Harry?"

"This is what's going to happen," said Harry. "No one is ever going to talk of this. The uranium was being smuggled into the country by insurgents. We uncovered the plot. It is now the property of the British government."

"That's a pretty big gamble," Mani pointed out. "We know you have it. We could still come after you."

"I wouldn't advise it," Harry warned. "I've told the Ambassador. Downing Street already knows."

"It's going to be on your head, Harry," McCaul warned. "If this country falls apart, it's going to be because of you."

"Better the Arabs do it tolerably than you do it perfectly," Harry countered.

Ruth's heart strained in her chest, threatening to spill over with emotion. He had quoted Lawrence. God, she loved him.

"It's not over, Harry," McCaul cautioned. "I don't like to be played with."

"Neither do I." Turning away from McCaul, Harry reached out his hand. "Come on, Ruth."

Ruth stepped away from Mani, hoping to never see the man again. Holding her head high, she walked past McCaul and Ronnie and took Harry's hand. Without looking back, they headed to the helicopter, ready to be flown into the desert night.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N - Thank you again for reading and your kind words. There is one more chapter left after this, so a word of warning there is M content ahead._

 _._

Chapter 12

The lamp on the bedside table cast a circle of light across the ceiling, illuminating a faint crack that wound its way over the plaster. Ruth followed it with her eyes as she lay on the bed, wondering if the fissure was a result of ageing or a product of the bombings. Whatever force had caused the fracture, one thing was clear; everything cracks eventually. Compared to her lodgings at the hotel, the room at the Ambassador's house was a refuge of quiet, the only sound the gentle pulse of the ceiling fan as it whirred above her head. Sleep eluded her and she lay on top of the covers, restless. A shower had refreshed her but had done nothing to soothe her jagged nerves, her muscles still holding onto the fight or flight response, ready to move at the slightest noise. Forsythe had retrieved their bags from the hotel in order to avert any repercussions from the Americans, and she had changed into a fresh skirt and blouse, but the atoms of her flesh crashed together beneath her clothes, the fabric chaffing her overly sensitised skin. The Ambassador had also supplied her with a rather generously sized glass of brandy, which now sat half empty, alongside her wedding ring and the tube of lipstick. They had destroyed the laptop, but that one little feminine accessory had survived along with all the Intel she had stored on it.

"Naughty plum," she whispered to herself. Was there ever a shade more anathema to her personality?

Her eyes fluttered with exhaustion, but her mind still spun, reeling from the events of the past day. The blades of the fan circled above her, and she stared at them hoping that they would hypnotise her and lull her to sleep. The bed was empty, devoid of a counterweight on the other side. Strange, how she had become accustomed to his presence after only three nights. There had been no need to worry about what this night would bring; they were in separate rooms. A sigh welled up within her, and she turned onto her side. The dark panelling of her door stood out against the white stucco, and her thoughts travelled through the wood to the other side of the hall. Was he as restless as she? Was he still wound tight from their drive through the desert? Her fingers skimmed over the smooth fabric of the coverlet. If she willed it, if she thought hard enough, would he knock on her door? Images of their bodies sliding against the silken material filled her mind. A groan escaped her, and she rolled onto her back. One more night, then it would all be over and she could return to her little desk and her small, quiet life. Barring any unforeseen happenings, they would be departing for London tomorrow, and resume their normal lives, or as normal as their association had been after their date. After Havensworth.

The fan continued to spin, the blades whispering to her - go, go, go to him. Closing her eyes against their urgings, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. The déjà vu of the situation was staggering; was she destined to repeat history until she got it right? On the bridge of indecision, planks falling away, she could not go back, only forward. A flash of gold caught the corner of her eye and she picked up the ring. She wasn't married. She closed her fist around the ring. She wasn't married to him. She may have been through more with him in the past few days then she had ever experienced with any other man, but that was where it all ended. She placed the ring back on the table. A burst of air left her in frustration and she walked over to the window. It looked out over the patio where they had sat the evening before. Was it only last night? It felt like she had lived three days in one. Three lives in one. Who was she now? She tapped her fingers on the windowsill.

There could be nothing between them because...because…

Her feet travelled back and forth across the carpet and her mind circled in on itself. She could run away from him but she could never rid herself of how she felt about him. Somehow, in this tattered corner of the world, all her reasons for denying them meant nothing. Her pacing had taken her to the door, and she stopped and leaned against it.

Come to me, she whispered against the wood. Take the few steps across the hall and knock on my door.

Pressing her ear against the wood, she willed his door to open. There was only the hollow sound of empty longing. He wouldn't come to her; she was the one who had imposed the boundary, it was up to her to cross it. The doorknob was cool and smooth beneath her hand. If she opened it, perhaps Harry would open his at the same time and they would accidentally meet in the hallway. With one swift move, she opened her door and stepped out. Her stomach fell with disappointment. There was no one in the hall, only the sleeping house sighing with loneliness. Fingers flexing in indecision, she rocked on her heels. Back or forward. Make a decision. She would check on him, just to make sure he was all right.

Taking the few steps across the hall, she tapped on his door, a knock so faint as to almost be imperceptible. There was no answer; he was probably asleep. She conceded that she might have knocked quietly on purpose. Feet poised, ready to leave, she blinked in surprise when his door opened. Washed and freshly pressed, he stood with his shirt sleeves rolled up, collar undone, a glass of brandy in his hand. He tilted his head at her curiously. Throat like parchment, her words stuttered out.

"The music woke me."

Cocking his head to listen, he looked at her, puzzled. "There is no music."

She looked at him under hooded lids. "I know."

The axis of his understanding tilted, and there was a subtle lift to his brow. He opened the door wider. Summoning her courage, she crossed the threshold and stepped into his room. The room lay in deep shadow illuminated only by the dim glow of a small lamp that sat on the table behind him. Strips of blue twilight filtered through the lattice that covered his window, and the fan above his bed rotated in indolent circles. Dark wood covered the walls and a heavy red tapestry lay on the bed, making his suite far more exotic than her little room. He stood a pace behind her, watching, waiting. She had no idea what to say. It would seem once again she had entered into things without a plan; her main objective had been to knock on his door. He placed his drink on the table.

"Did you want something?" he asked, innocently.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing…after…everything."

Flexing his jaw, he rubbed his fingers across his chin; a patch of dried blood, the result of skin meeting asphalt, was visible on his forearm.

"Pretty good, considering."

"Good. Good," she echoed.

The air crackled with the unspoken, but she continued to look for refuge in small talk. Searching the room for words, her eyes landed on the opening of his shirt. Faint hair glistened gold against a patch of skin burnished from the sun. The air in his room seemed unnaturally heavy, weighing on her lungs, and she found it hard to breathe. Aware of her gaze, Harry calmly leant back against the table.

"Is that all you wanted?"

Like a genie with the power to grant her only three wishes, his question came with a caution; she needed to make her choices wisely. Once out of the bottle, whatever she released could not be returned. A litany of items burst into her head, an endless list of things that she wanted, but there was only one thing that she desired.

"We only have one night left."

"One night?" A look of confusion returned to his face.

"I don't mean one night, I mean…" She would sell her soul for a silver tongue. "When we get back to Thames House we'll be our old selves."

"Old?" He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.

"I mean, I might go back to being that Ruth."

"What are you talking about?" His brow furrowed; unable to parse her ramblings. "What Ruth are you now?"

God, she was making a hash of this. Better to abort her ill thought out visit to his room rather than create a situation. "I'm sorry. Forget it. I shouldn't have come. I've been through a lot these past few days and I'm not thinking straight. I'm just going to-"

Head down, trying to salvage what dignity she had left, she walked past him to the door. He stepped in her path, and she crashed into the solid bulk of his body. She stepped back, but he caught her by her upper arms. He leaned down to her face.

"You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met."

There was a mark on his bottom lip and the red imprint of a thumb stood out against the skin on his neck. What other souvenirs had he acquired from the fight? She had her own souvenirs of their journey, memories of him backing her against the car, their bodies pressed together on the floor of the hotel room, the look of hunger as he sat across from her on the patio. Glimpses of an appetite that would not be satiated by dinner and a kiss. It all lay coiled beneath the surface of his skin, she only need scratch it and watch his control unravel. If she dared. The pads of his fingers dug into her arms, urging her to let go, and by doing so release him. She swayed, intoxicated by the hint of danger that lingered around him, a concoction that she now understood. After spending years in high stakes situations, the craving for adrenaline was part of his being. She had only experienced a fleeting taste, but the longing to sample it again had taken a hold of her. She closed her eyes. Make a wish.

"I don't want to be in my head anymore."

Afraid that her words had broken the spell, she kept her eyes closed. He released one of her arms and brought his finger up to the pulse of her throat, a touch so feather light, she might have dreamt it. It was the spot where he had left off in the hotel room. The fibres of her skin rose in response to the subtle dance of his finger as it drifted across her throat, thrilling as he skimmed down her neck and touched the collar of her blouse.

"Tell me what you really want."

He would make her say it. Oh, how she hated him. She was in his room, wasn't that enough? Burned once, he would not give in until she had rescinded the words of rejection she had said that day in his office. Ever cautious, she would not bend to him so easily, she was her own woman now. After all, he was the one who had put her through the crucible; leaving her alone to fend for herself, giving her no choice but to prick the bubble. She was not so malleable anymore; she needed a few more concessions from him. She leaned towards him, her nose tickling his ear as she inhaled the scent at the crook of his neck, warm and rich. A strangled moan came from the back of his throat, his other hand falling to the curve of her waist as he steadied himself. A thrill of power shot through her and she smiled. Who was in the driver's seat now? He had subtly tormented her their entire time in the country, and she would call him out on it. One day, curiosity would be her undoing, but she pressed her advantage wanting to know the answer to the question that had plagued her since their first day in Baghdad.

"What did I say in my sleep?"

His lips grazed her temple, and he hummed as if he had not heard, avoiding the question.

"Tell me," she impishly urged, certain that she had exposed his little game.

"You said my name."

Her head drew back, her confidence eroded at the revelation of her secret. All this time he had known the inner workings of her subconscious mind. Tables turned, his fingers flexed on her hip.

"Didn't I talk in my sleep? I must have. I must have said your name because all my dreams were about you."

At his admission, her knees buckled slightly and she tilted into him, her mind fighting to keep her equilibrium. His fingers dipped under the collar of her blouse, tugging at the top buttons and freeing them.

"But this…" He traced along the lace of her bra. "This kept me awake."

His words were too much. Closing her eyes, her mouth glanced along the underside of his jaw, lips searching, brushing against fine stubble, savouring the taste of his skin.

"I didn't bring you here to seduce you," he murmured against her cheek. "I want you to know that."

"I know," she sighed.

Hand moving over his chest, she found the opening of his shirt and slipped her fingers beneath the crisp cotton. His skin was hot against her palm, his heart beating with a deep impatience. She brought her lips to his, melting in delicious contentment as the fullness of his mouth moved over her. She could float on the sea of his kisses forever. Harry's hands wandered over her body, intent on exploring her contours, telling her that he was not content with mere kisses. Tongue against her lips, he hungrily searched for admittance, pushing into her with a swirl of desire. His body ground against hers, awakening the hunger that slumbered within her, and the idea of floating quickly lost its appeal. Taking a deep breath, she dove in, pressing against him with her own urgency. Mouth open, she rose on her toes, returning the depth of his kisses, asking for more. Muscle and sinew banded around her body, the strength of his embrace binding her to him. Her feet left the ground as he claimed her, half lifting her as he whirled around, swinging her onto the bed. The springs sighed as the mattress bounced beneath her body, her breath suspended at the suddenness of the move. Breasts heaving, she looked up at him in surprise as he loomed over her. There was no need for the bridge to break, he had pushed her off and she was falling. He descended on her, mouth covering hers, his tongue delving deep inside, leaving room only for him. She twisted beneath the weight of his body, her thigh between his legs, the friction of the contact urging him on. Freeing his shirt from his waistband, she trailed her fingers along the skin that she had imagined, exploring the dip of his back, around to the softness under his ribcage.

"Ow!" He inhaled a sharp breath through his teeth.

"What?" Ruth asked in a panic. "What is it?"

"Just a tender spot." He moved to continue the kiss, but she drew back.

"Wait a minute." Concerned, she placed a hand on his chest. "Let me see."

She pressed against his shoulder but he did not budge. She pushed with more force and he relented, rolling over onto his back. Rising to her knees, she carefully undid the buttons of his shirt, the red triangle of the sunburn giving way to paler skin. It was one thing to feel his chest, another thing entirely to see it. Momentarily fascinated, she drew her fingers through the faint golden hair on his chest. She glanced at him. He lay with a satisfied smirk on his face, leaving her to wonder if this was all a bid to get her to undress him. Undoing the final two buttons, she revealed and an angry red mark near his ribs. The bruise was on the cusp of turning purple. With delicate pressure, she touched the spot with her finger.

"Are you alright?"

"I think I'll live."

"I meant, are you alright to-" She couldn't say the word, puritan soul that she was. "To continue with this?"

His hand snaked across the bed and under the material of her skirt, coming to rest on her thigh. "I would think that my attention would be distracted by other matters."

His fingers pressed into the flesh beneath her skirt, his thumb rubbing a slow circle. She drew a sharp breath at the sensation he aroused, and blinked at his lack of inhibition, thoughts of her own inadequacy filling her mind. The voice in her head clamoured to be heard; she could stop now before it had gone too far. Where had her courage gone? Where was the new woman she had become? The danger of the evening flooded back, along with the fate that they had narrowly avoided. It was all too precious. Take advantage of the moment, instinct told her, give over to passion. She leant down and pressed a soft kiss against his ribs.

"Better?"

He gave a sigh of contentment. "Very much so."

She looked down, unable to meet his eyes, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Are there any other injuries that might require similar attention?"

"A great many, I'm afraid."

She raised her eyes, and he gave her a look full of deep mischief. He was such a rascal. He thought he knew how to play her, but she wouldn't make it easy for him. Taking her time, she ran her fingers along his belt buckle, slowly slipping the leather through the metal clasp. He clicked his tongue with mock impatience.

"I see it's not only your driving that's slow."

The quip only made her more determined to dally with the belt buckle. "Oh well, you know how women are, always wanting to look at the decor." She cinched his belt, earning a grimace from him; a small act of retribution for all the times he had let her be patronised.

Without warning, he sat up and grabbed her shoulders, toppling her over. A gasp of astonishment left her as she found herself once again on her back. He gave her no time to think. Peeling back her blouse, his mouth seared across the skin where the fabric once lay, moving over her throat, her shoulders, branding the flesh of her breasts. He pulled aside the lace of her bra, his tongue drawing lazy circles over her nipple. Fire licked beneath her skin, melting her resolve, desire pooling in the core of her being, threatening to consume her. She pulled his shirt off of his shoulders, the action giving him permission, unleashing his own longing to disrobe her. Undeterred by buttons and zippers, they tore at each other's clothes, fabric ripping, his shirt, her skirt, she didn't care. Every veil pulled away until skin met skin, naked before each other, the last barriers between them dissolving. Panting, he looked down at her with wonder, detailing the shape of her body, his hands imprinting each curve. Flesh, having laid dormant for so long, awakened to his touch, coaxing her to leave the confines of her mind. Dark eyes met hers, asking in turn for his release. Her mouth parted in silent surrender; he could play her any way he wanted. He rolled her over onto her side and folded her into him, the skin of his chest burning against her back. Moulding his hand to the fullness of her breast, he pressed his mouth against her ear.

"I've wanted to do this for the past three nights."

Her heart gave a slight thrill at his admission; he had not been immune to her.

"And if I were to be entirely truthful," he whispered hoarsely. "I've wanted to do this to you for a good many nights before that."

His breath was hot on her neck, his lips pressing delicately against her spine, sending shivers of delight down her back. His hand skimmed across her belly, delving lower, teasing fingers gliding over flesh plump with arousal. A gasp of elation left her as he dipped his fingers into the delta between her legs, already wet with the want of him. Waves of pleasure rippled through her body, all thoughts of where they were evaporating, the starless sky of her dreams opening up and calling to her. She writhed against him, the strength of his need growing hard against her back, her moans of desire mixing with the throaty groans of his swelling appetite. She nudged temptingly against him, inviting him to give into the last deadly sin and join her. She didn't care how he had her; she only wanted to feel him inside. Master of his own design, he turned her over, his skin glowing with the dew of her body. Driven by a hunger too long denied, finesse deserted him, and he plunged into her. As he filled her, a soft whimper of satisfaction fell from her lips, and she wrapped her legs around him. Bodies slick with the sheen of passion, they were back in the desert, overwhelmed by heat, beset by a thirst only the other could quench. If they had come together in the cold, grey light of London, their fire would not have burned so hot. Ignited, he thrust against her, breath matching breath, moving as one, suspended on the edge of bliss. To her dismay, he slowed down and shifted his weight, sliding back on his knees, pulling her up with him. Barely losing contact, she straddled him as he knelt beneath her, a spasm of pleasure singing through her as he entered her once again. Hands splayed across her back, he took her breast in his mouth, rocking with a primal rhythm beneath her. Arching into him, she tossed her head back in abandon, her mind finally free of thought, body completely giving over to sensation, alive in the moment. Souls entwined, only the words of poets could describe their sublime union. She took his face between her hands and looked down on him, his countenance full of unadulterated desire. He had granted her wish; how wonderful that he should give this to her. Emotion swirled in her chest, overflowing the confines of her heart and she lowered her head, pressing her lips against his ear.

"Ana uhibbuk," she whispered.

Under the spell of her words, a shiver moved through his body, and the last vestiges of his control unravelled. Hands gripping her waist, he gave one final thrust up into her, deep and hard. Clutching at his shoulders, she shattered around him, shards of rapture shooting through her. His arms shook as he held her, his body shuddering with the ecstasy of release, aftershocks rolling through his muscles. Her legs gripped against his thighs, trembling as her limbs melted, an echoing tremor pulsing through her.

Spent, he fell back onto the bed, taking her along with him. They lay sprawled across the covers, panting as they searched for breath. Overhead, the fan lazily rotated, pleased with their efforts, the breeze dancing over their skin, pulling the perspiration off their bodies. Lying half on top of him, she couldn't rouse the energy to move, her knees like liquid. His fingers threaded through her hair, absently playing with the damp strands at the base of her neck.

"You're quite marvellous," he admitted, voice heavy with exhaustion.

She lifted her head slightly. "You mean in bed?"

"No. I mean, well yes, you are, but besides that," he backtracked. "This entire trip, I've been very proud to be with you."

"That would have been nice to hear earlier."

"I'm saying it now."

She curled against him, a cat satisfied with the attention of her master.

"What did you whisper in my ear?" he asked huskily.

She suspected that in his small dictionary of Arabic he might already know, but she wouldn't tell him. "Like everything here," she purred in his ear, "It's a secret."


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N - If there is anyone still out there wondering what's happening with these two, thank you for your patience. This chapter started to get away from me so I split it in two. Hope you don't mind. Thank you again for reading!_

 _._

Chapter 13

The trill of a morning bird filtered through the dining room window, the song floating above the clinking of cutlery scraping against fine china plates. Ruth scooped at the tender flesh of a ripe pomegranate, separating the blood red seeds from the fruit. A rogue pip escaped her spoon and bounced across the table, landing beside Harry's plate. Mortified, she looked at the seed and then at Harry. Before the juice could stain the cloth, Harry picked up the seed and popped it into his mouth. Ruth narrowed her eyes at him in silent censure - had he not heard of the myth? Eating the seeds of a pomegranate had doomed Persephone to half the year in the Underworld. He held Ruth's look, his face a mask, the corner of his mouth twitching with sly provocation. He knew the story but thought nothing of tempting fate; he lived a life undaunted. In silent challenge, his eyes dared her to do the same. It was only a myth - how silly to live one's life by the rules of an ancient story. She looked down at the seeds in her bowl. If she were to be entirely honest, she didn't want to leave this world, the land that had born witness to her metamorphosis. The shell of her former self had fallen away, revealing the fresh layer of a new woman. She took a seed and placed it in her mouth, the tart flavour sitting on the tip of her tongue. Her lips wavered as a conspiratorial smile of utter satisfaction threatened to overtake her, but she controlled the impulse.

The spout of an urn tapped against a cup, reminding her that she and Harry were not alone. Seemingly unaware of the coded exchange between the two spooks, Forsythe poured out a dark liquid. Ruth smiled her thanks as the Ambassador filled her cup, taking a sip of the fragrant coffee.

"I trust you slept well, Ruth?"

She coughed at the question and a tiny dribble of liquid spewed from her mouth. She hurriedly reached for a napkin and dabbed her chin. Carrying on with his usual diplomatic aplomb, the Ambassador glossed over Ruth's infraction.

"It's rather strong, isn't it? We make it the Turkish way. The only coffee worth having, in my books."

Ruth cleared her throat, unable to meet the Ambassador's eyes. "I slept very well, thank you."

She was certain Forsythe had only asked the question out of consideration, he was a gentleman after all. He couldn't have been aware that she had quietly slipped back to her room in the early hours of the morning, hair mussed, skirt torn, skin glowing from a session of pre-dawn lovemaking. The image brought an unbidden flush to her cheeks, and she found herself avoiding the eyes of the other occupant at the table.

"And you, Harry?" Forsythe prompted. "Sleep well?"

"Never better," Harry replied innocently. "Did you, Ambassador?"

"Very well." Forsythe unfolded his napkin and snapped the linen as he laid it across his lap. "That is until Colonel Waterhouse showed up in the middle of the night and dropped two spooks on my doorstep. Then I lay awake wondering what trouble I should expect this morning."

"I'm sorry that we disturbed you," said Harry.

"Is the something you would like to share with me?"

Harry took a sip of his coffee as he contemplated his answer. "A group of non-state actors tried to smuggle weapons across the border that would aid the insurgency. We stopped it."

"What sort of weapons?"

Harry sat back in his chair and looked down at the table, rubbing his finger along his knife, weighing how much he should reveal. He looked up at Forsythe. "Uranium."

The Ambassador's fork paused mid-way to his mouth. "Ah. I see." Forsythe's demeanour shifted - the gravity of Harry's admission clear.

"Colonel Waterhouse will corroborate my story," Harry added. "We needed to bring in his disposal team to deal with the uranium."

"I'm correct in assuming that this information does not leave this room."

"Yes."

The Ambassador took a deep breath and leaned back. "The Americans are telling a slightly different story. They're saying you managed to muck up their operation. They're making a bit of noise about a soldier they claimed you attacked. A Private Jensen?"

"I regret any injury that may have happened to the Private. It was unfortunately unavoidable, pursuant to our objective."

"The fact is, you attacked a United States Marine. The Yanks want their pound of flesh."

"And you intend to deliver it to them."

"On the contrary, I've got you booked on a flight that leaves in two hours." The Ambassador went back to his breakfast. "But I am going to be called on the carpet by my American counterpart and I don't want to be blindsided by anything."

Harry's shoulders relaxed and a slight smile played on his lips. "Then I think it important to tell you that the success of the mission was due in most part to Miss Evershed's intelligence gathering."

Focused on his breakfast, Forsythe plopped a piece of cheese into his mouth. "You didn't need to tell me that, I suspected as much already." He turned to Ruth, his countenance full of charm. "You're wasting your time with him, you know that. I can offer you something far more rewarding."

Ruth gave him a small smile of gratitude. "My place is at Five," she responded with a diplomatic firmness.

Conceding defeat, Forsythe addressed Harry. "I've ordered a car around for you. I can't stress how important it is for you to go straight to the airport. Do not get any ideas into your head about wandering off somewhere. I can protect you on sovereign territory but if the Americans pick you up, I don't know how much I can do."

"Understood," Harry agreed with appropriate seriousness.

Back in her little bedroom, Ruth packed up her few belongings. Her fingers slipped through the silk of the jewel blue scarf and on a whim decided to stow it in the laptop case. Liz Denning had been at the Ambassador's house when they had arrived the previous evening, and Ruth had given her the tape of the conversation with Mahmoud's parents, along with instruction on how to reach her at Thames House. It never hurt to have too many contacts. There had been no chance to say a proper farewell to any of the people she had met. The time of their departure now set, a wave of sadness washed over Ruth. At least she had seen far more of the country than she had anticipated considering she had spent the first two days cloistered away. She had crossed the Tigris, stood in a park named for Abu Newas, and experienced dusk in Kirkuk. A host of other memories, intensely private and safely stored away sprang forth. Her eyes wandered to the heavy wooden door. There had been no opportunity to speak privately with Harry. No pillow talk on how the future would unfold between them. Indeed, if there was even a future. Perhaps the flame that had burned between them last night could only be conjured up in this little oasis, this idyll of Babylon. They could never hope to rekindle the same fire in London. It was a passion meant only for one night.

The sound of a knock broke through her thoughts. Expecting Harry, she opened the door with a smile but found in his place, Kamal, the Ambassador's man. It was time to depart for the airport.

Harry stood impatiently waiting for her in the front foyer. He wore the outfit from the previous day, khakis and a field jacket. His personas changed with a practised ease, while it had taken her a trip across the globe to even glimpse a different part of her character. Efficient and professional, he showed no hint of the ardour he had lavished on her the previous evening. The Ambassador's front hall was hardly the place for demonstrations of affection, but Harry's return to his taciturn demeanour rattled her. Had he come to the same conclusion regarding the finite nature of their night together? It was a mark in the column of forbearance. They wordlessly got into the car and settled into the backseat. As the Ambassador's house receded in the rear-view mirror, Harry flipped open his briefcase and rifled through his papers. Ruth stared out the window. She had no laptop to occupy her mind, the case sitting on her lap, weightless and lonely without it. Malcolm was going to kill her.

Stately mansions gave way to smaller houses and then to the facades of commercial buildings. Ruth's brow furrowed as the scenery flew by. Though she had not driven extensively around the Green Zone, she sensed that they should have passed the Republican Palace by that point. The car pulled up to an unfamiliar checkpoint, and they were waved through the gate, exiting the Green Zone. A voice sounded in Ruth's head, telling her they were not headed towards the airport. She slid an eye to Harry but he remained absorbed with the papers in his briefcase. She was being paranoid; it was merely residual anxiety from the previous day. The ramp of a bridge loomed in the distance, beneath its arches the morning light sparkled on the Tigris. This was definitely not the way to the airport. She studied the driver, an Iraqi gentleman, and spoke to him in Arabic.

"This is not the way to the airport."

"I know."

"Where are we going?"

"I was told to go this way."

"Who? Who told you to take this route?"

A car swerved in front of them, distracting the driver from her question, his attention focused on righting the vehicle as he leaned heavily on the car horn.

"Harry…" she whispered in warning.

"Hmm."

"This isn't the way to the airport."

He raised his head and looked around with benign curiosity. "Isn't it?"

Her chest moved with rapid breaths as she attempted to tamper down her panic. "We need to get out."

"Let's just see where this goes."

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. "We're supposed to go straight to the airport," she hissed at him. "Where is he taking us? Who told him to take this route?"

Images of the previous day flashed through her mind; Mani's grip like a vice on her arm, McCaul bragging of his black site in South Africa, Ronnie and his taunting innuendos.

"I'm sure we can handle whatever happens," Harry assured her.

"You think we're going to be so lucky the next time?"

During their hushed conversation, the car had crossed over the bridge and now wound its way through an older part of the city. With every second, the window of opportunity for them to turn around diminished. Ruth searched for street names, scanning for clues as to their location. Where were they? The car rolled to a stop, and Harry calmly closed his briefcase, taking the unannounced detour in stride. He stepped out of the car, leaving Ruth to sit in shocked silence. What was he doing? He came around to her side of the vehicle and opened the door.

"Come on," he coaxed softly.

Warily, Ruth did as he requested and exited the car. The water lapped at the edge of the river, the bank opposite to where they had started. Harry walked away and Ruth hesitantly followed behind him. After a few paces, the stone edifice of a man dressed in ancient robes stood before her. She squinted at the plaque beneath the statue.

"Al-Mutanabbi," she whispered with a frown. "He was a tenth-century poet. But why are we here?"

Harry motioned for her to look up. Behind the statue unfurled a street teeming with people, ordinary citizens, men and women strolling and talking, sitting on curbs and in cafes. Ruth absorbed the scene with wonder. Harry had brought her to the historic centre of the city when it had blossomed with culture and enlightenment during the lifetime of Al-Mutanabbi. Centuries-old stone buildings contained shops and coffee houses, their facades opening onto the streets, people spilling forth. Men sat around tables, engaged in animated discussions, the swirling wisps of smoke rising from hookahs threading through their words. Awnings like wings stretched across the narrow street, giving way to smaller, more colourful cloths that covered makeshift stalls. And in each stall lay the most important item of all - books. There were books displayed on tables, laid on the ground, in carts, and piled on crates. The unexpected nature of the experience made it all the more precious, and emotion welled within Ruth's chest, her eyes growing moist with joy. They were not here to be tourists, but Harry had given her a moment to experience the city as one. She didn't know whether to hug him or hit him. She gave him an expectant look and he nodded his permission for her to continue. A number of the women who strolled about the market wore hijabs, and Ruth rummaged around in her bag for her blue scarf. She donned it, following Wilson's advice - better to blend in.

"That colour looks good on you," Harry whispered. "Brings out your eyes."

The compliment added to her already bewildered state, and she looked away, embarrassed by the flattery. Running from cold to hot, she could never fathom the quicksilver changes in that man's temperature.

"We don't have much time," Harry gently warned her.

She nodded her understanding and then strolled down the street as if she were in a dream. The selection was overwhelming, tomes in Arabic, French, English and a host of other languages. Politics, philosophy, poetry, jumbled in with the dog-eared covers of bestselling paperbacks. She picked up a volume and examined it. A man walked along clinking small cups together, while further down the street a musician strummed the melancholy strings of an oud. She closed her eyes, tucking away another memory. The next stall held an even greater array of books. How could she ever choose just one? Harry followed her, brushing against her as she examined the books.

"I hope you don't mind if I stay close to you."

It was a precautionary measure, he was only looking out for her safety, but she relished the feel of his chest against her shoulder. Without looking behind her, she absently reached out and found his fingers, grazing them softly with her own. He captured her hand in his and held onto it. She strolled along, his warm palm pressed against hers, tugging him gently behind her. Under the gaze of the Baghdad sun, they were merely an ordinary couple exploring the treasures of a foreign land. A world of possibilities stretched out before them, and her step became lighter. They could do it; they could live as a normal couple, content to find happiness in simple pleasures. Reluctantly, she let go of his hand and picked up a book. The weathered leather cover spoke of age, and she lovingly ran her fingers over the embossed binding. Carefully, she pried it open, the earthy scent of ancient text filling her nostrils. A quick glance revealed poems by Persian authors, familiar and unknown. The bookseller eyed her, sensing a possible sale.

"How much?" she asked cautiously.

"It is very old. One of a kind."

He named the price. In American dollars. She narrowed her eyes at him. It was far too much; he had pegged her as an easy mark. Regretfully, she returned the book to its spot.

"Don't you want it?" Harry asked.

"It's too expensive."

"How much does he want?" Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"It's alright." Ruth placed her hand over his.

Harry turned to the bookseller. "Alsier?" Apparently, his Arabic extended to asking the cost of merchandise. The bookseller named the same price he had quoted to Ruth.

"Maybe we could barter it down," she suggested.

"But it's a gift for you," Harry responded. "Why would I haggle over the price?"

"But he's asking far too much for it."

"If I don't pay the full price, then how will you know how much you mean to me?"

Her lips parted, overwhelmed by the gallantry of his words. Without waiting for her consent, Harry paid the money to the bookseller and retrieved the book from the stall. He solemnly handed it to her.

"Thank you," she murmured in a heartfelt whisper.

She tucked the book away in her laptop bag. It would not replace the computer but to her, the book was of far greater value, the weight of the volume satisfyingly reassuring. She looked down the street wondering if she had time to explore further. Over the heads of the crowd, a flash of dark hair caught her eye. She froze.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Ruth swallowed, her eyes darting back and forth. "Mani."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. With studied nonchalance, Harry picked up a book and flipped through the pages, covertly raising his eyes to scan the marketplace.

"Where?"

Ruth subtly gestured to the spot where she had seen Mani. Harry casually returned the book. He took her hand and sauntered back into the crowd, moving as if they had all the time in the world. With a few steps, they succeeded in completely immersing themselves into the milling foot traffic. Without a word of warning, Harry swung around, jerking Ruth behind him, changing their course to the opposite direction. A fish swimming upstream, Harry rammed through the wave of oncoming pedestrians, uncaring that Ruth was buffeted against people as he dragged her along. The reedy song of a flute pierced the air, the discordant notes of the chanter following them, urging them to go faster. Harry picked up his pace, forcing Ruth to canter at a half run to match his stride. Like a beacon, the statue of Al-Mutannabi appeared, signalling the end of the street. Swearing under his breath, Harry came to a sudden halt and Ruth crashed into his back. Over his shoulder, she could see the spectre of a black SUV idling beside their car. It could only mean one thing. McCaul. Ruth's heart thudded in her chest, her throat tightening as sound roared in her ears. Harry grabbed her arm and pushed her behind a stall. Hidden by the striped canvas, he backed her up against a building; the ancient stone surprisingly cool through her blouse. He pressed into her as if by the force of his will he could meld her into the wall. Out of breath, they stood panting, a look of understanding passing between them. Mani at one end of the street - McCaul at the other. Their options were limited. Her arms longed to reach around him and pull him close, shut out the ever-invasive world of espionage and all the danger that it invoked. Her lips moved silently, asking the gods to give her more than one night with this man. He leaned into her, lips touching her ear, a lover whispering his devotion to his beloved.

"We have to split up."

"What?" The words jarred her back to reality. "Wait. No!" Shaking her head, Ruth clutched at his jacket as a host of disparate emotions rippled through her body - disbelief, fear, anger. "I have to go with you."

"It's me they're after. I'll lead them away from you." He lifted his head and looked around as he distractedly reached into his inner pocket. His fingers brushed against her waist, and she leaned into him, her body silently telling him not to go. He pulled out a ticket. "Do you have your passport on you?"

"Yes, but I-"

"Get yourself to the airport; get on that plane and leave. Even if I'm not there. Do you understand?"

"I'm not going to leave you behind," she countered angrily.

"Don't worry. I'll find my way out."

Harry pulled out a wad of money and pushed it into her hand. She barely registered the feel of the bills as her other hand tugged at his jacket. They couldn't part like this. She wanted to tell him so much, release the words that brimmed in her heart, but before she could form the words he spoke.

"You have the flash drive. Just get that information out of the country."

She shook her head but he remained steadfast. Any argument she had with his plan evaporated. Looking at him forlornly, her throat constricted. "Thank you for bringing me here, even though-" She couldn't finish the sentence.

Harry looked down at her, his expression full of tenderness. "I don't regret it," he whispered. "I don't regret anything that happened here." He looked deep into her eyes, filling her with courage. "It's better this way."

Preempting her protest, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her into him, his mouth full on hers, sealing the pact between them. It was enough to suspend all thought, the noise of the marketplace receded, her senses filled with the scent of him, the possessive pressure of his lips, marking her as his. Mind reeling, her body instinctively recognised the hidden layers of the kiss, the taste of hunger wrapped in an unspoken farewell. Before she could return the kiss, he released her and she stumbled back against the wall, dazed. He turned on his heels and slipped back into the crowd, disappearing with the skill of a master spook.

Ruth stood in stunned silence, the money still clutched in her hand. What had just happened? The morning had unfolded so beautifully only to turn completely on its head. Slowly, the voices of the marketplace invaded her ears reminding her that she had to keep moving. How on earth was she going to get to the airport by herself? Closing her eyes, she conjured up a map of Baghdad in her head. By her recollection, she was on the opposite side of the city from the airport. She needed to find the main thoroughfare and get to the other side of the river. Keeping her head low, she pulled the scarf tighter around her hair and left the protection of the stall. As she walked along, her eyes cast about furtively, until she spotted an alley. It was barely a slit in the masonry, and she eased between the stones, the air instantly cooler as she immersed herself in the dark shadows. With each step, the walls drew in closer, blocking out the sun. A giant rat scurried across the stones and found refuge in a dustbin. Horrified, Ruth stopped in her tracks. Behind her, the faint tap of footsteps grew steadily louder. Friend or foe, Ruth did not want to wait and find out. There was only one way to go. She yanked at the dustbin, spilling the contents into the alley and ran as fast as her feet would carry her, fleeing into the unknown darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/ N – I'm just going to slip this little chapter in here and hope that you won't notice my inability to let go of this story. It didn't feel quite right to tack the ending on. ;)_

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Chapter 14

Untouched by the rays of the sun, the alley grew dimmer, luring Ruth into its all-consuming greyness. Her feet hesitated, the scent of decay and rot invading her nostrils, the smells of lives lived in despair seeping from the darkness. The Sumerians had a name for the underworld - Kur, and Ruth wondered how deep she would have to go before she discovered its goddess, Ereshkigal. The nearing footsteps of her pursuers echoed off the ancient walls. She had no choice but to continue. Legs pumping, Ruth resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, aware that she could lose valuable time. Or turn into a pillar of salt. As her feet pounded rhythmically against the stone, she grappled with the straps of her laptop bag, the sharp corner of the book inside digging against her shoulder blade. _Just keep going. Just keep going_. As the mantra played over and over in her head, her scarf slowly unravelled, flapping behind her like a streamer. Her breath came in ragged bursts; she could not keep up this pace much longer. As if hearing her thoughts, her body rebelled and a stitch pierced her side. She slowed down to a half jog, her hand massaging the muscle under her rib. Too much time behind a desk. When she got back, _if_ she got back, she vowed to foreswear her sedentary lifestyle.

Squinting into the gloom, she could barely make out a slit of light in the distance. Focused on the promise of escape, she picked up her pace, but let out a yowl surprise when her foot twisted on an object. Stumbling, she crashed against a wall, her fingers clawing at the stone in an effort to maintain her balance. A painful moan told her that she had tripped over a sleeping man. Spouting curses in an unknown tongue, he angrily rose from the ground, gaunt limbs unfolding before her, blocking her path. Ruth retreated, stepping into the refuge of a shallow doorway. The door opened and a man appeared, his head wrapped in the checkered cloth of a kaffiyeh, his fathomless stare far more frightening than the beggar's curses. She stepped away, but another man emerged from the shadows. Ghosts awakened by the disturbance of her presence. A slow smile spread across the man's face. He reached out to her with a sinewy hand, whispering to her in a voice full of insinuation. A cackle erupted from the beggar, as he revealed a mouth full of blackened teeth. Panic closed in on her. Fingers scraped against her, one hand pulling at the bag, a different hand grabbing her shirt. If she screamed, who would hear her? There was no Ereshkigal here to pass judgement. Anger churned within her; she had survived far too much to be defeated now. Wriggling like a fish, she blindly kicked at the men's shins, her shoes cracking hard against a bone. A howl reached her ears, the pain she had caused warning enough for the men to ease their grip. She squirmed through the opening. Instinct and adrenaline superseded fear and her shoes flew over the ancient cobblestones. The stitch in her side forgotten, she pressed her lips together in frustration, angry that Harry had abandoned her to such a fate. Damn him. The sliver of light grew brighter, and she reached down into her last bit of reserve and hurtled toward the opening. Stumbling out of the alley, lungs searing, she squinted into the sun. The street roared with the din of morning traffic, and she gave thanks that her instincts had been correct.

Hair tangled in her scarf, she tugged at the material and wrapped it around her head, hastily scanning the street. On the other side of the road, a sand coloured field jacket moved through the crowd. Relief welled within her. The man was wearing a hat but she was certain it was Harry. Dodging cars, she made her way through the traffic. Her hurried steps took her to within arm's reach of the man, her toe catching the back of his heel. He whirled around in irritation. Her heart fell with the leaden weight of disappointment. It wasn't Harry. Throwing her a look of annoyance, the man continued on, leaving Ruth to stand forlornly alone, the throng of pedestrians flowing around her. Harry must have given his jacket away to act as a decoy. Nervous fingers rose to the scarf on her head. It marked her. Leery of standing still for too long, she walked along the pavement and tore the scarf from her head. It was such a pretty colour; she hated to let it go.

Stalls lined the street, displaying the wares she had only glimpsed at a few days before. Cajoling voices shouted, vying for attention as buyers haggled with vendors. Ruth stopped near a stall, a wealth of trinkets and jewellery on display. A woman raised her voice, pointing out the inferior quality of a pot and demanded a reduced price from the vendor. The woman monopolised the vendor's attention, and Ruth took advantage of the distraction to subtly place her blue scarf on a rack and extract a plain brown cloth. It wasn't stealing, merely an exchange of goods. With shaking hands she wrapped the scarf around her head, keeping one eye on the crowd. Her hands froze at the knot under her chin. Two men were making their way across the street, their ubiquitous sunglasses telegraphing their connection to the CIA. In an effort to blend in, Ruth donned her own sunglasses and pretended to browse a selection of American DVDs. The two officers stopped a few stalls away, their fingers pressed against their ears, indicating that they were communicating with another team. How many more were there? Ruth held her breath, debating whether to wait until her way was clear or take the chance and flee. Perspiration trailed down her spine, the back of her blouse sticking against her clammy skin. After an agonising eternity, the men decided to move further up the street. Ruth turned and walked in the opposite direction. She desperately needed a drink of water, but more importantly, she needed transportation. A young man in jeans and a t-shirt lounged idly against a car, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. She approached him.

"Taxi?" she asked, the word transcending all languages.

He nodded. "Where do you want to go?"

"The airport." She smiled at him, feigning nonchalance, quelling the hysteria that was bubbling beneath the surface.

"Where's your luggage?"

She blinked, derailed by his question, for the first time realising that her suitcase was back at the Ambassador's car, never to be seen again.

"I'm meeting someone at the airport, they have my bags."

The explanation mollified him, or perhaps he had learned not to ask too many questions, and he flicked the cigarette onto the pavement, motioning for her to get into the car. Safely ensconced in a moving vehicle, Ruth relaxed a fraction, sitting back in her seat as the driver wove through the traffic. After a few blocks, the gods of good fortune deserted her, and they were ensnared in the inevitable gridlock of the city. The driver lit another cigarette and dangled his arm out the window, settling in for an extended wait.

"You know, you are very trusting," the driver observed. "You should be careful, there are kidnappers roaming the streets."

Ruth's eyes widened, overcome with the fear that she had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. She kept her voice cool. "Thank you for the warning."

The man shrugged his shoulders. "I only say that because I don't think you are being followed by friends."

Breaking her vow, Ruth looked back through the rear window of the car. A black SUV loomed a few cars behind them. Shit. How had they found her? She turned around contemplating her choices. Stay in this vehicle or find another car. Searching through her bag, she pulled out her ticket, checking the departure time. She fished in her case for her mobile. Time was not on her side.

"My plane leaves in thirty minutes."

The man shrugged with the resignation of one who dealt with congestion on a daily basis. "Today it is your fate to be caught in traffic."

Ruth peeled off a few bills from the bundle that Harry had given her and flashed them across the back of the seat. "I can make it worth your while."

Unimpressed by her money, the driver took a slow drag of his cigarette. "Maybe the people behind us make it more worth my while."

It dawned on her that the driver thought she was already being hunted by kidnappers; a summation not completely off the mark. What was to stop him from handing her over and collecting a tidy finder's fee? Tampering down her growing dread, she unrolled the entire pile of notes and held them up.

"Better?"

The driver eyed the money suspiciously. "Who are these people who are following you?"

"Americans."

The man flicked his cigarette out the window. "Then again, every man is the architect of his own fate."

With a swift turn of the wheel, the driver hitched the car over the kerb, driving along the pavement, ignoring the shouts of angry pedestrians. He dove into a side street, the transmission creaking as they careened over ruts in the road. Jostling in the back seat, Ruth turned around and looked out the rear window. The SUV had also turned into the alley, the narrow confines of the space impeding its progress. The driver snaked through another back street, honking his horn as pedestrians ran to avoid the car. The maze of side streets would not deliver them all the way to the airport; eventually, the driver would run out of options.

"Don't we need to cross the river," Ruth yelled over the rocking of the car.

"Yes. Yes. But we go south first."

"We don't have time," she protested.

"I get you there, don't worry."

The driver manoeuvered the car onto a busier street, the expanse of a bridge coming into view. The sightseer in her had departed long ago, and Ruth gave no glance to the water as they crossed it. She focused on the road ahead, clutching onto the seat, silently urging the car to go faster. Without slowing down to merge, the driver sped onto an expressway, the squeal of tires sounding as the vehicle behind them swerved to avoid a collision. The traffic clipped along at a faster rate, and Ruth chanced a glance behind them. The SUV had capitalised on the increased speed limit, taking full advantage of its size to muscle in between cars as it barreled closer. A jet rumbled overhead; a sign that they were nearing the airport. With astounding agility, the driver navigated their car through the blast barriers that encircled the airport's outer roads. A long line of vehicles idled outside the drop off zone and their car screeched in behind them. Ruth did not wait for the driver to pull up to the entrance. Shoving the bills into the driver's hand, she jumped out of the car and sprinted to the door.

Once inside the gold and teal interior of the terminal, she hurriedly looked around, hoping against hope to find Harry. Everywhere she looked, her eyes landed on American soldiers in desert fatigues. She lowered her head and pulled the scarf tighter around her face. Expecting to be hauled away at any moment, she cautiously made her way toward the departure board. As she skimmed the list of cities, the boarding call for her flight came over the loudspeakers. Her fist curled into a ball of indecision. She couldn't leave without Harry. But she would be of no use to him if she was caught. She still had the USB stick and all its incriminating evidence against McCaul; they could always use that as a bargaining chip. Across the terminal at the baggage counter, a dark-haired man with sunglasses searched the crowd. It was Ronnie. He must have been the one in the black SUV. The final call to board came over the speakers. The decision was made for her.

Depositing the laptop bag on the scanner belt, Ruth showed her boarding pass and her passport to the security agent. He compared the documents and then scrutinised her features. Suddenly conscious of the picture she presented, Ruth took off her scarf and ran her fingers self-consciously through her hair. She straightened her perspiration soaked blouse, her finger finding a rip in the seam. The security agent typed a few keystrokes into his computer terminal. Her heart thudded in her chest. Had she been flagged? It was the first thing she would do if she were hunting a fugitive. Her eyes travelled to her laptop bag as it moved through the scanner, realising that she was now physically separated from the insurance of the USB stick. A portly security guard removed her book from the bag and opened it. Ruth cringed as the guard's greasy fingers carelessly flipped through the pages, despairing that the splendid gift was now sullied by his irreverent handling of the book. Finding nothing, the guard turned his attention to examining the lipstick tube. With one guard examining her passport and the other potentially discovering the USB stick, Ruth didn't know which way to look. The guard put the lid back on the lipstick and deposited it back in the bag. Ruth jumped when the thump of a visa stamp hit her passport. The agent motioned for her to continue. Collecting her documents and her bag, she ran to the exit.

Heat poured off of the asphalt, and a hot wind whipped at her hair as she walked out onto the airfield. Biting her lip, she willed Harry to be on the plane. There was still time, he could make it. She stepped onto the mobile stairs, each ascending step telling her that the chances of Harry catching that flight were becoming slimmer and slimmer. She entered the cabin and paused. Almost every seat was taken up by British armed services personnel. Praying that Ronnie had not gotten word to anyone on the plane, Ruth kept her head down and made a beeline for her row. Having found her seat, her chest moved rapidly as she attempted to regain her breath, her arms wrapped protectively around the laptop bag. Doubt whispered in her ear; it was not too late to go back, she should stay and find him. There was a commotion at the loading door, and Ruth looked up expectantly. The area cleared, but there was no sign of Harry.

The thrum of the engine vibrated beneath the floor, signalling their imminent departure. Ruth looked through the oval of her window. The small figures of baggage handlers scurried about as they unloaded the last few pieces of luggage and then drove off in their cart. Lights flickered on the wings as the plane slowly backed up, scribing a large circle as it manoeuvred its way towards the runway. The flight attendant stopped at Ruth's seat and reminded her to buckle up her belt. Reluctant fingers closed the latch of her seatbelt, the mechanism clicking with a note of finality. The plane gathered speed, harnessing the forces of thrust and lift, stretching the band of gravity. Ruth looked at the city below - her view of Baghdad entirely different from when she had arrived. A piece of her would always remain in the tattered country, and in its ruins, she had discovered the unknown depths of her own courage. Her farewell should have been enacted with greater ceremony. She should have left with the man to whom she had finally given her heart. Oh, Harry, she whispered, stupid, stupid man. Where was he? They should have stayed together. What was she going to tell the team back on the Grid?

The plane levelled off and a bell dinged, the overhead light indicating that she could release her seatbelt. There was a general shuffling in the seats as passengers took advantage of the opportunity to retrieve items from the overhead compartments. Ruth stared into the endless expanse of white cloud, lost in a sea of regret. She started when a passenger took the seat beside her. She turned to say that the seat was taken, but was instead, rendered speechless. It was Harry. Her body crumpled with relief, and she stifled a sob of joy. Her arms rose to hug him, but she was still aware of their surroundings, and out of a sense of caution she let them drop helplessly back to her sides. Her mouth opened with a thousand questions but could not form any of them into articulate words. Dishevelled in a crumpled blue shirt, he too looked like he had run the gauntlet. He smiled at her with the same roguish grin that he had shown her the day before in the desert.

"I had to go back and get my briefcase."

Ruth shook her head, amazed at the complete lack of regard for his own safety. She sat back in her seat, tension draining from her muscles. The clatter of a cart approached, and Ruth signalled to the flight attendant.

"I'll have a water," she said. And a scotch."

Harry gave her a look of concern. "It's ten in the morning."

"I don't care."

He turned to the attendant. "I'll have the same."

As Harry passed the drinks over to Ruth, he assessed her appearance, his brow furrowing when he noticed the scratches on her arm and the rip in her shirt. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, taking a large gulp of her water. His fingers graced over the back of her hand and she leaned into him.

"I eventually found a driver to get me here. But how did you-?"

There was a movement in the seat in front of them, and Harry gave Ruth a warning glance, preempting her question. She understood his silent message; this was not the place to discuss any matters involving their mission. Harry pulled back from her and averted his eyes, the veil of secrecy once again descending. With a slowly sinking heart, she accepted the fact that they would never be able to discuss any part of their trip to Baghdad. She slowly sipped her scotch, the liquid burning down her throat. Doubt returned to her shoulder, its whispering words awakening insecurity. It was clear. The end of the mission would mean the end of everything.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N Thank you for following along and to those of you who have kindly left a review. I enjoyed writing this story and I hope its given you a little pleasure too!_

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Chapter 15

The wool fibres of her cardigan prickled against her forearm, and Ruth broke from the pace of her typing to absently rouch up the sleeve. Her arm was pink from exposure to the sun, the red marks of small lacerations standing out against her skin. She subtly moved her sleeve back into place. Tilting her head, she nudged the receiver of her phone back with her shoulder, the automated voice politely reminding her that she still had thirteen unheard messages. A notification pinged on her computer; another email added to the growing list of unread correspondence. Her gaze moved to the pod doors and the promise of freedom. There had been no question of her not returning to the Grid, if she missed another day, her inboxes would be bursting at the seams. The time difference between Baghdad and London had given her half the day to live over again and she intended to make good use of it. A folder landed on her desk, and Ruth mouthed her thanks to the junior analyst as the young woman continued on her rounds. It was as if she had never left. Phones rang incessantly, conversations overlapped, keys clacked loudly as processors whirred. With surprising ease, she had slipped back into the working cogs of the Grid, her time in Baghdad seeming nothing more than a dream. A dream of such vivid dimensions that she had thought it reality. Her fingers hovered over the keys, the font on her computer screen blurring as the static voice on her phone faded. The top of her desk became inlaid with a parquet pattern, white curtains rustled as a gentle breeze blew through an open window. It wasn't a dream, she assured herself. The glow of a sunset played beneath her eyelids, the shadowy patterns of a lattice screen, warm breath in her ear, a heated touch.

"So what happened?"

The question jolted Ruth back to the present and her eyes flew open in alarm. Casually perched on the edge of her desk, sat Jo, one leg swinging, a look of friendly curiosity on her face. A second later, Zaf rolled up in his chair.

"Yeah, tell us all about it," he prompted.

Ruth's mouth opened and then closed as she searched for an appropriately vague response. Her attention was distracted by the tap of boot heels, and her mouth drew into a grim line as Ros approached.

"What's going on?" Ros asked with cool detachment.

"We're trying to weasel information out of Ruth about her trip to Baghdad," Jo informed her.

"We might have to resort to a few pints at the George," Zaf proposed cheekily. "Get all the dirt on Harry."

Ruth's eyes became daggers, and Zaf raised his hands in surrender, slowly wheeling his chair backwards. He narrowly avoided Adam's toes. The Section Chief skirted the chair wheels and joined the crowd.

"How was it?" Adam leaned his elbows on Ruth's desk. "Did you get to see much of the city?"

"Ah, no," Ruth stammered. At this rate, she would never make it through all her messages. "I spent most of my time sequestered with other analysts, reviewing data."

"Shame," Adam continued. "I passed through Baghdad a few times when I was out in Syria. It was beautiful then."

"I only saw the Green Zone." Ruth shrugged her shoulders, hoping her lack of tantalising information would dissipate the gathering.

A commanding voice bellowed across the Grid. "Ruth!"

Heads turned and the group cleaved in two, giving Ruth a direct line of sight to Harry as he stood impatiently outside his office door.

"Where's that threat assessment?"

"Yes …I ..um…" Ruth shuffled through the pile of folders on her desk.

"I needed it an hour ago. I'm meeting the Home Secretary."

"I just have to…" Giving up her search, Ruth motioned helplessly to her computer.

Harry crossed his arms, his eyes boring into the group that hovered around Ruth's desk. "Am I to understand that the current threat level is so low that we need not bother doing our jobs?"

"It's Friday afternoon," Zaf protested.

"Ah, of course," Harry's agreement was wrapped in sarcasm. "I'm sure every bomb maker and gun smuggler will be taking the weekend off. Just ask the Georgians."

"Abkhazi's," Ruth corrected him quietly under her breath.

Adam stepped into the conversation. "We were just curious about how you made out in Iraq."

"It was a tale full of sound and fury signifying nothing." Harry waved his hand dismissively. "The usual American bravado, bluster from Six. A waste of time."

Ruth idly picked up a pen, wondering if anyone noticed the cut on Harry's bottom lip, a subtle clue that all had not been serene.

Zaf turned to Ruth. "I'll give you a hand with the assessment,"

"No, leave it to Ruth," Harry ordered. "You're a field officer, she's the analyst."

The door to Harry's office closed with a resounding thud, the force of the blow dispersing the group.

Ruth sat perfectly still, staring at his door. Analyst? She was more than an analyst, she had just spent the last four days proving as much. How dare he speak to her in his usual cursory tone? Treat her like she was merely administrative personnel. Normally, she would shrug off Harry's churlish behaviour, chalk it up to exhaustion, but her nerves were raw, and his words cut deep. On their return to Brize Norton, Harry had been whisked away to a high-level meeting with military personnel and she had been sent back to London in a separate car. There had been no opportunity to speak in private, and with those few words, Harry had reset their working relationship and pegged her right back in the same hole where she had started.

From under hooded lids, she studied his office door, methodically clicking her pen. A chill ran through her limbs, settling in her skin, the coolness of the encounter refusing to dissipate. There had been no warmth when he spoke her name, no meaningful glance; no indication that he shared with her a secret of staggering magnitude. It was just as she had predicted in his bedroom the previous evening – that once back on familiar territory they would return to their former selves. It had only taken one afternoon for them to fall back into their roles. Harry weighed down by the mantle of authority, wielding a caustic tongue, charging off to meetings. She ensconced at her desk, impenetrable behind a wall of data and electronic messaging. Where was the connection they had built together in Baghdad? She could feel it slipping through her fingers; disappearing like a mirage, too fragile to withstand the cold reality of London. With each click of her pen, she added another layer to her shell; reason reasserting itself under the harsh light of the Grid. Baghdad was an outlier, a concoction created by adrenaline and circumstance, the ingredients of the recipe now lost. There was no room in this business for personal relationships. Harry's authority rested on the respect he elicited from the team, she would only compromise him. The ribbing she had gotten from Zaf proved that.

Ruth's thumb paused on the top of her pen. She was being watched. Raising her head, she saw Ros leaning back in a chair. Arms crossed, Ros gave Ruth a knowing look; a cat having discovered a mouse.

"What really happened in Baghdad, Ruth?"

Ruth relaxed her mouth, her face becoming blank. Of all the people on the Grid, Ros was the last person to whom she would ever reveal anything.

"Nothing," Ruth stated flatly. "Nothing happened in Baghdad."

Pursing her lips, Ros rocked slightly in her chair, calculating how far she could push her interrogation. Undaunted, Ruth stared back at her. After Mani and McCaul, and every other ordeal that she had endured, dealing with Ros was child's play.

Ros opened her computer screen and clicked her mouse with feigned indifference. "You'll tell me someday."

Refusing the bait, Ruth returned to her emails, ignoring the cold kernel of loss that sat in her belly. Nothing had happened in Baghdad.

"God, she was a pain when Harry was away," Jo whispered under her breath, smiling mischievously at Ruth. She leaned across the desk. "Seriously, though, we are going to the George after if you want to join us."

"I'm pretty tired," Ruth deferred politely.

Jo's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You know, for someone who spent all her time indoors, you do have a pretty nice glow."

Ruth willed herself not to blink. Did her skin still hold the blush from her night with Harry? She mustered a smile and leaned forward, lowering her voice to a confidential whisper. "Well, just between you and me," she nodded slyly, and the young woman's face lit up at the prospect of a detail meant only for her. "There was a pool."

The sound of chair wheels clattered, and Zaf appeared out of nowhere. "Did you say pool?"

With a heft of her foot, Jo pushed Zaf and his rolling chair back to his desk. Ruth quietly chuckled, relishing the tiny moment of camaraderie. This was where she belonged, this was her home. The world had righted itself and everything had returned to its preordained order.

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The numbers on the clock turned over and evening approached with no sign of Harry's return from Whitehall. The scale of second-guessing tipped towards one conclusion. What happened in Baghdad should stay in Baghdad. If she walked away now, it would be with her head held high. It would look desperate if she were to be found sitting here, waiting for him to return. She had no idea how long he would be, or even what she would say to him for that matter. She had no claim to him; there had been no discussion of a relationship. Her past was dotted with men who were able to divorce intimacy from their everyday lives. Far better to get on with her own life. Ruth slowly closed down her system, knowing that the messages would still be waiting for her Monday morning. She gathered her coat and bade goodnight to the few stalwart souls remaining on the Grid. Stepping out of the lift, she saw a familiar face.

"Hello, Charlie," she greeted the security guard with a smile.

"Evening, Miss Evershed, haven't seen you around for a few days."

"Been on a bit of a break."

"Looks like you got some sun," the security guard observed. "Don't tell me you went to Mexico without me."

"No, nothing as glamorous as that."

She set her worn handbag on the scanner belt, Charlie giving the item a perfunctory glance and waving her through. A welcome relief from the intense scrutiny of the past few days. She had not handed the USB stick over to Malcolm. It sat securely inside a zippered pocket of her purse. She loathed to relinquish it, the tiny piece of plastic the last piece of evidence that her adventure in Baghdad had actually existed.

"Good night, Charlie," she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

"Have a good weekend, Miss Evershed."

The doors of Thames House clicked behind her as she walked out onto the street. Rain drizzled on the pavement, and she raised her face to the sky, letting the drops sprinkle on her cheeks. During her entire stay in Baghdad, there had not been one drop of rain, and she begrudgingly admitted she might have missed it. As refreshing as the rain was, she pulled the collar of her coat tighter, dampness seeking into her once sun warmed bones. Was it only that morning that she had been drenched in sweat, running through the streets of Baghdad?

At the intersection, the poster that once proclaimed the splendours of Mexico had been replaced by an advert promoting a walking tour of the Hebrides. That was certainly more within her price range. Ruth grimaced as she neared the bus shelter, the confines of the glass box already bursting with people crushed together trying to avoid the rain. She found a spot on the periphery, resigning herself to stringy hair and sodden clothes. The night was descending into a murky blue; glaring headlights and flashing store signs blurred by the rain. The god of dusk did not live here. She closed her eyes, conjuring the haze of the sun as it hovered above the horizon, the heat rising from the sand. A low rumble sounded and Ruth opened her eyes as a lorry sped by, a wave of brackish water spattering her coat. Oh well, it didn't matter. There had been no time to dry clean her coat since her last encounter with a puddle.

A black sedan turned the corner and edged its way towards the spot where Ruth stood. It stopped in front of her, the tinted windows blocking the identity of the occupant. Ruth took a step back, her heart jumping to her throat. They had followed her to London and tracked her down. The window slowly lowered revealing the driver. She let out a huff of relief. It was Harry.

"Get in," he commanded bruskly.

Weathering the looks of envious commuters, Ruth thankfully climbed into the car. Harry eased into the street, the late evening traffic sedate compared to the chaos of Baghdad. Finally alone with him, she found herself at a loss for what to say. Harry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Do you have the USB stick?"

Her shoulders slumped. He had only picked her up to collect the flash drive. She nodded and rummaged through her purse. Harry kept his attention focused on the road, one hand held out for the USB stick. Not knowing how to extract the chip from the lipstick, she handed him the entire tube. Her fingers brushed against the cool leather of his gloves, silently lamenting the lost opportunity to touch him. Harry slipped his hand under his overcoat and stowed the drive in an inner pocket. The transaction was completely devoid of ceremony. The USB stick was the summation of her time in Baghdad, every trial she had overcome, but to him, it was just another routine exchange.

"Norfolk."

"What?" Ruth shook her head in puzzlement.

"The uranium is in Norfolk. An abandoned shelter. I wanted you to know in case anything happens to me."

"I can't imagine anything happening to you," she countered instantly."You did manage to make it out of Baghdad by the skin of your teeth. Which you never bothered to explain, by the way."

The corner of his mouth tipped slightly. "Let's just say a baggage handler is going to wake up with a headache similar to Private Jensen's."

Ruth glanced at Harry's wrist, the previous watch with its chunky metal band now replaced by a more streamlined version. Evidently, Harry had no hesitation about parting with mementoes from the mission.

Their conversation had centred on business, leaving Ruth with the impression that it was more of a mission debrief than the overture to something personal. She rubbed the handles of her bag, searching the depths of her courage to say what was on her mind. Harry inhaled as if he were about to speak. She quickly turned to him. He pursed his lips. Silence. She looked out the window, a dying ember of sadness sitting in her belly. A film of moisture had condensed on the inside of her window. She drew her finger across the glass revealing the outside world. If only she could clear the mist as easily with Harry. A word; it would only take a few words. She could trek across Iraq and subvert a plot to deposit uranium, but she was incapable of conducting a simple conversation.

They drove in silence until a familiar landmark signalled that the ride was drawing to an end. The dark windows of Ruth's house appeared, staring back at her, lifeless and uninviting. The car slowed to a stop. The handles of her bag were wearing smooth from her nervous rubbing. She could ask him in for a few moments as a friendly gesture. No, better to keep it professional.

"Thank you for the lift," she murmured quietly, not meeting his eyes, her hand blindly searching for the door handle.

"I should come in."

Her head swivelled. "Oh?" she responded in surprise.

"Just to make sure everything is secure."

"Yes, of course," she stuttered, deflated that his offer was only for safety reasons. She didn't point out that she had already been in her house without incident; the previous comfort that she had felt now supplanted by the idea that someone was lurking in her closet.

As they stood on the stoop, Ruth dug through the depths of her purse searching for her keys. Wordlessly, Harry retrieved them from her hand and calmly slipped them into the lock. The door clicked open and he cautiously entered the house, Ruth following close behind. Wrapped in the evening gloom, the house was cold and foreign, and a thick layer of silence settled around them. They paused in her cluttered hallway, remaining in their coats, nothing more than travellers passing through. Glancing at her silhouette in the hall mirror, Ruth barely recognised herself. She was a stranger entering her house. With the confidence of a man who had secured sites before, Harry stepped further along the entryway. At a loss on how to proceed, Ruth glanced around and retrieved a tattered umbrella from the hall stand.

A loud bang echoed from the front room.

Ruth gave a startled gasp, half raising the umbrella in self-defence. Harry's arm shot out to protect her. He placed a finger against his lips, and gently pushed her back toward the front door. Treading silently, he peered around the entrance to her living room and then disappeared into the room. Ruth's shoulders tensed, bracing for a confrontation.

Quiet prevailed; no noise indicating a struggle. Not waiting to be summoned by Harry, she took the initiative and entered the front room. A pile of books lay scattered on the floor, dislodged from their resting place on the table, the culprit casually licking her paw.

"Fidget," Ruth scolded.

Harry bent over and picked up one of the books and examined it. It was the volume of poems he had bought for her in Baghdad. Ruth had placed it on the table before returning to the Grid, thinking that it was a safe spot.

"Don't want this to get ruined," Harry whispered.

"No," she answered breathlessly.

He held out the book to her. The cover was warm beneath her fingers as if it still held the residual heat of the sun. He did not immediately release the book, and she looked up into his face, his eyes barely visible in the dimness of the room. His lips parted and then instantly closed. She took a breath but let it go. Whatever warmth had been in the moment, it was quickly vanquished by the coolness of the unheated room. Harry brushed past her as he headed to the kitchen, focused on continuing his surveillance of the house. Unsure where to lay the book, she clutched it to her chest, protecting the last remnant of the woman she had discovered in Baghdad. She returned to the hall, silently sliding the umbrella back into the stand, feeling utterly useless, deciding that it was better to let him secure the house by himself. Harry came back into the hall.

"I'm just going to take a look upstairs."

She nodded her consent. The third step creaked as it usually did, and Harry paused before continuing his ascent up the stairs. The floorboards groaned slightly as he walked overhead, the direction of his tread indicating that he was entering her bedroom. Ruth's eyes widened; there could be any number of embarrassing accessories on display. All thoughts of an intruder left her mind and she hurriedly ran up the steps. Harry stood outside her bedroom door, a look of concern on his face.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes, I-" She took a step toward him and leaned against the door jamb, hoping to gloss over her distress that he should walk into her bedroom. "I'm just very tired."

"That's understandable." A flicker of what looked like disappointment crossed his face, but it was quickly subverted. "Everything seems in order here. I should let you get some rest."

Her lungs collapsed as the air of opportunity seeped away, words left unsaid, all signs indicating that he would leave her to an evening alone. Ruth dropped her arms, the book hanging limply in her hand. Harry pointed to it.

"I hope it was worth it."

"Yes." Her lips moved in a half smile. Every infuriatingly wonderful moment spent with him in that wretchedly beautiful country had been worth it, "Yes, it was."

Harry tilted his head. "May I see it?"

She handed him the book. He slowly flipped through the pages.

"It's all in Arabic," he observed.

"I know."

He turned the book toward her and indicated a poem. "Who wrote this one?"

"It's Rumi," she informed him. "Persian poet from the twelfth century."

Harry nodded at her explanation and pointed to a stanza in the text. "What does it say?"

Ruth eyed him warily, sensing a note of challenge in his voice. Did everything have to be a test with this man? He knew very well that she was fluent in Arabic. With a touch of annoyance, she took the book from him and placed her finger over the spot where his had rested. Her lips moved slightly as she quietly read the line to herself, taking a moment to translate it in her head.

"It says… um…" The words sat thick in her throat, and she swallowed self-consciously.

"Yes?" Harry prompted lightly.

Her voice barely audible, she softly read the text. _"_ I whispered an offer softly in the ear of your playful heart. I closed my mouth and spoke to you in a hundred silent ways. You know what's on my mind, you've heard my thoughts, and now, what I described to you last night, I'll do today."

The words sighed through her, fanning the latent ember in her belly, a flush of warmth creeping across her skin. She kept her eyes lowered, wondering if he had somehow known what the verse had contained. The decadence of the previous evening that she had tucked away in the corner of her mind, unravelled in all its exotic glory. Like a flower, the crux of their relationship revealed itself. They did not communicate by words; they spoke to each other in a hundred silent ways. There did not need to be a declaration of understanding for them to move forward; she need only recognise the signs. He had driven around the city to find her, he was in her house, he had given her this beautiful book. She stood silently, the revelation causing her heart to flutter wildly within her chest. Through the silence, he spoke to her in a whisper.

"Is it over?"

She raised her gaze to his. His eyes, black in the darkness, looked down on her, the line of his mouth softened by the question. The façade he had projected in Baghdad had disappeared, replaced by an air of hesitancy; he was as unsure as she about the future. What had it cost him to ask that question? The string of self-control that had allowed her to function throughout the day snapped. Book still in hand, she stumbled into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"I didn't think I would see you again." Thoughts that had swirled in her mind, spoken aloud, released a dam. "I was all alone – there were men." Tears spilled forth; words jumbling together. "You weren't at the airport, I was on the plane, I thought they had you-"

"It's alright," he murmured against her hair, his arms rising to comfort her.

"You left me." A sob broke forth from the bottom of her being. "You left me alone on the streets of Baghdad."

"I'm sorry." Voice shaking, his arms tightened their hold, encircling her in a crushing embrace. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" Her fingers grasped his lapel, simultaneously wanting to push him away and pull him in. "Why did you leave me?"

"I promise, I will never do it again," he whispered fiercely.

She shook her head, all too cognisant of the ways of the world in which they inhabited. "You can't promise me that."

He pulled his head back, and cupped her face, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. "Ruth," he pleaded hoarsely, entreating her to accept what he could offer. "I will do everything in my power to protect you. But if I'm not there-"

"No, don't say that." Shaking her head, she refused to contemplate the idea that he would not always be in her life.

"You have to believe in your own strength, that no matter what, you will survive."

Overcome with a quiet desperation, she pulled him closer, her mouth claiming his, needing to know that he was real, that what had happened between them in Baghdad was not a dream. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced thoughts of the alley from her mind, losing herself in the ambrosia of his kisses. The folds of his coat enveloped her, the strength of his body promising protection. Instinctively, he knew what she needed; he needed it too. His hands slid beneath her coat, bunching the scratchy wool of her cardigan, fingers finding the smooth skin of her waist. The heat of his palm banished her fears.

"You said it was only for one night," he murmured against her lips.

"No," she countered between kisses, "You must have misheard me."

"It's only since this morning that I touched you," he murmured as his lips found her throat. "But it felt like an eternity."

At his sentiments, a tiny whimper of agreement left her lips. He backed her through the doorway of her bedroom and she willingly let him steer their course. Lost in the darkness, he stumbled, and she adjusted her step, correcting their path. He paused when they reached the edge of her bed. Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, he carefully took the book from her hand and reverently placed it on the bedside table. He placed his palm on top of it, swearing an oath.

"Everything stays between these covers."

Ruth nodded her understanding. It was their story; it would never be shared.

Hungry hands struggled with the heavy London outerwear. Finesse abandoned them as they tore away coats and peeled off clothes, layer upon layer of restraint falling away. The bed called to them, and Harry pulled back the covers, gently lowering her onto the chilly sheets. Greedy arms tugged at him as she pulled him down, desperate to know the heat of his body. Skin finding skin, they moved against each other, roaming tongues igniting senses, flames licking over heated limbs, warmth spreading between them. Her body sang under his touch; skin tingling as she floated on a wave of contentment. She gasped into his shoulder as he groaned into her ear, joining him in the pleasure of sweet release. A smile of satisfaction played upon her lips, a tiny thrill of victory that this man was in her bed, and all her doubts about the tinder between them, unfounded. Their fire burned hot even in the dreary light of London.

Against his shoulder, under tangled sheets, she closed her eyes, looking for one last reassurance.

"Are we safe here, Harry?"

There was no answer, only the pressure of his arm as it wrapped tightly around her.

"Read to me some more from your book, Ruth," he whispered against her temple, fingers trailing over her skin.

Turning over a page in her mind, she imprinted the feel of his leg on her calf, the expanse of his rib cage under her hands, the fine hair of his chest against her cheek; treasures gathered for a new vault of memories. Raising herself on one elbow, she looked down into his face. She was about to tell him that if he yelled at her again she would make his life very difficult when he lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He slowly ran his fingers along her jaw. Perhaps she would say something at another time. She leaned in a planted a kiss on his lips. Reaching across his chest, she searched with her fingers for the book of poetry. She would read to him tonight, and if she had her way, she would read to him for a thousand more.


End file.
